When the Wolf Sings
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: Hellsing Dracula crossover! Dracula awakens in Abraham Hellsing's possession as a prisoner. AxA
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I wrote this when I started reading Dracula recently. I don't know if I should finish it. If I do, it will be shounen ai of some kind and relates also to Hellsing the manga and the OVA... This hasn't been beta-read, so watch out for possible typoes and such.

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"The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story." - Edgar Allen Poe, The Telltale Heart

**When the Wolf Sings**

The first night in the company of my captors is an aged photographed burned at the edges in the scorching recollections that followed. The darkness that closed over me was more complete than that of my own coffin, which by far smelled and sounded different than the one which enclosed my body then. I woke to the sound of feet pattering on floors farther away; I felt a sense of largeness and space so open that I felt my soul would drown in it. I had no sense nor capacity of the passage of time. I could not rise; I could not move. I was alone in my madness, and my restless starving body tormented my mind with the craving for vital, red, sweet blood - dripping, pouring, dripping, gushing from open wounds. I thought that I might have screamed for lack of sustenance, but it might have only been in my mind.

Then a bit of relief, a taste of human. I felt it pour through the tiny holes in my man-made coffin that had but a bag of dirt from my homeland, the Carpathians, the sweet stink of contended territory. The bittersweet lullaby of wolves. The last strong memory, the music of the night-children. Wolves howling in the dark. They were calling to me, singing to me. I wanted to embrace their hard, furry bodies and take the strength out of their rugged limbs and make myself strong enough to get out of this damned little Hell. What a tragedy. I was not so lucky.

Lulled by such a well-remembered tune, I felt that maybe for awhile longer I could endure my starvation. I bided my time in the neverending darkness. I shut my mind away into a secluded glen, existing only in part. I wished to die, I think.

Nights and nights went on. I listened closely to voices around me and found as my thirst deepened, I could sense quite a bit more than I had before; I could smell very plainly the wood of this house, made of wood I knew native to Englands shores - poplar and cherry oak, expensive. There was a certain feeling of newness - a feeling I hated. I suddenly had a compulsion to try and envision the home Jonathan Harker had envisioned for me, the old and dilapidated Carfax estate. But no such visions would bloom; I had no imagination to sufficiently entertain me.

The rest of the house gave of smells of cooking food (which sickened me) and of ripening wines. I heard voices, young and old. A maid passed by so close I could hear her virgin thoughts, passing obsessions of a stable boy making her bosom swell and her loins burn with unfamiliar heat. A man with worries of payments and mouths to feed impressed me with his sense of urgency and maddening desperation passed above me.

I passed the time this way. At length I fell into a troubled torpor. Great long dark empty spaces reside in my memory. I recall little except the darkness, and those small bits of synesthesia that come to mind have been dismissed as clutter in an immortal mind.

Explosions of light disrupted my sleep. Yet before I could throw myself upon my captors in a furious rage, a stake was driven once again through my heart, and I was paralyzed by agony. I writhed against my captors and felt their warm hands pull me from my loathed home. The worst of it all was their smell - sweat and blood, and their panicked breathing like frightened horses. I fancied that the steam from their breath was smoke.

I tried to speak; my tongue felt like it had been cut out.

The shapes of these burly men circled in front of my vision as they dragged me down a long endless corridor and planted my body directly before a searing hot source of light. I shied away from it like an animal, the wooden thing in my chest twisting painfully. A familiar face hovered within my sight.

"Are you well, Herr Dracula? For you'll soon find that freedom comes at a wicked cost. Be still, curse you; the mercy of the Crown alone lets you live now." It was Abraham Van Hellsing. I pulled my emaciated lips from my teeth and smiled my most courteous smile and wished to make a statement of his hospitality, but again my tongue burned and felt like lead.

I must have made a terrifying sight - small spark of victory for me - and then they shoved a cloth over my eyes. Oh god, the blood smell was driving me mad but not a single movement of my body helped me get any closer to sating my eternal hunger. I was manipulated onto something cold and hard. My pouch of dirt fell at my hand and I clutched it for dear life. I was not afraid, but merely fascinated as cold, searing iron was clapped about my hands and ankles and my throat. What sin was my mortal enemy planning on committing? My respect for the man who had managed to catch me at my weakest and take all of what I supposed dear away in a single night was not lightly taken. I was humbled. My capture was a nuisance, more than anything.

Would that I had any idea what was to await my future!

"Make yourself comfortable. This shall be your home for awhile," Van Hellsing said at my ear. "And your foul sins shall be punished yet." He touched me. His palm was searing hot. I do not know why he touched me, but perhaps it was like the hunter touching the vast beast that he feared so much after felling it successfully.

And then all of a sudden, sustenance dripped at my lips. I smelled it a moment before it passed my lips. It aroused such a terrible joyful noise from me that some of it spilled down my neck, the gift-giver starting from fear. It kept coming and coming and I simply let my mouth stay open, my throat working all of that delicious fluid to each and every starving molecule of my demonic self. I writhed and moaned horribly, suffering so much ecstacy... and when the cloth was stripped from my eyes, it was Van Hellsing standing above me, his mean little mouth carved into a smile that disturbed me more than I am willing to now admit, reluctant as I am to relate this story. He took a single white handkerchief and almost reverently wiped the gore from my skin.

"You are a fool," I said, and he replied-

"My dear Count, you are far from home and deeply ensorceled by strong alchemy. You know it not yet, but you are enslaved. Waken tomorrow night, and tell me again who is the fool."

I got no more from him but those foreshadowing words before he left the cell and closed the enormous doors behind him. I looked at my prison walls, which proved no more fascinating than my coffin. I pulled and struggled at the chains, once the blood in me was strengthening my limbs. I found, to my shock, that nothing would break. I sensed there was some sorcery in the chains. My clothes were torn and ragged.

I screamed my scorn for all named Hellsing until the dawn light crept upon the earth and silenced me.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Alright! Two reviews urging me to continue this hellish story! AL-RIGHT! You readers sure are gluttons for punishment... By the way, I've switched the spelling of Van Helsing of Dracula to Hellsing. Unfortunately I've gotten so used to spelling it that way that my typing fingers refuse to spell it the correct way. Oh well...

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As the last sunspeck vanished, I woke from a restful sleep with the foremost thought: what, pray, will happen to me tonight at the hands of the good Dr. Van Hellsing? My imagination swelled to unspeakable acts of heresy. A gypsy ceremony, perhaps? Excessive violence on my undead form? What did the words "the mercy of the Crown alone lets you live now" portend? I tested my shackles again but the sorcery persisted. I gave nothing but a sigh and a chillingly cold laughter that echoed to the shallow swell of black above me.

The last echoes had just fled the room when the large creaking door opened and two gentleman entered the room. One man's face was hidden in a thick, black cowl, as was the rest of his form, pervading the room with the scent of smoke and some other thick, choking perfume. I could hear their little hearts beating. The other man who entered afterward was none other than the soft-fleshed Van Hellsing. He moved almost elegantly, each motion thoroughly thought out yet utterly simplified. This man of unswerving good, God's own perfect servant, gave me a sudden sense of weakness. Oh, I hated him!

"You have rested well. This is good." With a motion of expectancy for quiet, I obliged him as he stood by my right hand, laying his left upon my naked chest and smiling that benevolent smile. "You will not have such sleep again for several days, I'm afraid. In this room, there are a number of alchemic equations and magical workings that keep you from leaving this room, while it also serves as your coffin you desperately require." His perfect smile, straight teeth, and twinkling eyes full of mirthless cruelty, gave me a slight tremor that I hoped he didn't notice.

"If you expect mercy from the knights of God, you will not have it. We are, in turn, servants of the Crown and have become the Hellsing Organization. Remember that very well. Also remember that you are no longer Count Dracula. That is a name for a monster. Consider that name and state dead and gone! This room is your prison, and your lasting salvation until the task is done."

"What task?" I muttered, feeling sour revulsion in my throat. I wanted to tear off the hand that touched me, crush it to dust and spice a flask of blood with it. The bastard was still gloating, that idiotic man in the robe looking on without having spoken a single word so far. I felt around for my bag of dirt. It gave me little comfort.

The mirthless smile faded, and with one purposeful motion he revealed but one small sliver of metal - a dagger. Beyond my sight the shadowed man had moved and was now preparing something. I smelled burning incense; I tasted smoke; I felt the heat of their bodies grow closer; my head felt smaller, my ears stuffed with cotton. As Van Hellsing drew closer with his instrument, I noticed the magic in the room. In the very stones themselves, each one glowed with archaic symbols that I almost recognized. I felt a sting of pain as the doctor drove the blade deeply into the back of my hand, the blood flowing from the wound as if I were nothing but a mortal. I quivered and threw back my head, struggling with every ounce of strength with which I could imbue my disobedient limbs. The chains rattled; the manacles bit deeply into my tender, starved skin.

I threw back my head and bit out, "You think this pagan ritual will come to anything?!"

Van Hellsing had disappeared to the altar beyond my sight. Enraged at my impotence, I tried to use my power to turn into mist. But nothing happened. I thought of vapors, of waterfall's mist, of hot evenings where the fog rose from a sleepy lake. But, to my furtive hate, my body remained solid and the manacles seemed to tighten as a warning.

The dagger returned, attached to his dark hand, gleaming like a single tooth robbed from a dragon's skull. I trembled at the sight of it. I realy was a prisoner, and the more that realization bloomed, the more cold I felt my body become with a most unfamiliar draught: fear.

He turned the dagger in his hand and pricked his finger with it. The smell of blood reminded me of thirst, but the sight of the single drop of ruby was not arousing at all. I could say or do nothing; my enemy, my captor, pressed his hand against my thigh and drew a soft breath out of me.

He said words. I don't know which ones anymore. They are lost to my memory, stripped of knowing them the moment he uttered them with his lips. And the time he took to speak those words, he dipped the dagger point to my naked chest and wrote symbols. The tip alone was not enough to puncture my immortal cutaneous layer, but it was his blood which had some additive property to it that rended my skin like paper. When the blood on the tip ran thin, he supplied it with more by digging his own wrist with admirable lack of expression.

As more of the horrible sigil was laid into my skin, my body seemed to grow ill. I developed the uncanny sensation of fever, where beads of my own blood came to the surface like sweat. I couldn't move, but my voice betrayed me as pain throbbed first, then became a steady, interminable buzzing in my very nerves. It consumed my skin like a fire, and everything I saw I viewed beyond a veil of crimson. I writhed with agony, feeling something being poured through me.

When did I start screaming? I don't know. All I had to ground my unsteady mind was the pulsing sigils and among them, Van Hellsing's emotionless mask gazing down at me, growing pale as he sacrificed blood upon blood to the open cuts in my skin. That remorseless man looked at me with no more regard to my suffering than he would a rock in his path, to be kicked aside... forgotten. I wept. Never, ever for mercy, but the tears came anyway. A strange look came over him then; a peculiar frown.

Why do monsters cry? The troubling fact is that I cannot tell you because I don't know. It happens. We, who know nothing of the things humans take for granted - love, sunlight, a nice cold glass of iced tea - we who shed tears even when there are none to spare. I have no answers here, for that is a mystery whose answer eludes even my mind.

Only understand that, as Van Hellsing tortured me for impossible hours, my soul cried out in anguish for freedom. It was no more; my status, my estate, even my very bloodline was stripped from me. It meant nothing now.

As dawn loosely pressed a blush to the horizon beyond my cursed walls, Van Hellsing fed me again before he retired to recover himself. My flesh ached, my new markings tingled unpleasantly like crawling things on my skin. I reached a stunning conclusion: what if he came back tomorrow night? He had promsed nothing. I would spend the entire day, dreading his return - and that was the first lesson: a beast must always fear his master.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **Thank you all, for your wonderful reviews! I know you're all looking for some hardcore smut here, but, well, it may be tough to do as far as Dark S&M Fiction goes... ...maybe not. But hey, this story's doing what I want - running away with me. Expect more chapters.

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In the quiet darkness of my stone prison, I lay awake. It was peculiar. I could not find rest even if I wanted to. Besides, the sigils on my body ached. I strained my neck to look at myself. From my chest to my navel the doctor's instrument had carved strange, swirling designs, and words. I tried to read them, but their tongue was foreign to me who knew only so many tongues of my homeland, and my studied English. It also may have been upside down. I lay my head back and waited, listening to the busy movements of the mortals. The maid walked by again, her heart stained with black thoughts. Her secretly admired stable boy was seeing another girl; her vengeful mind entertained me by conjuring scenarios that no well-educated maid should conjure.

And then something strange: I felt Abraham Van Hellsing's movements most clearly. I heard him resting in his study with a bottle of hard liquor and a glass. Then he vacated to a garden outside where I could almost feel the wind on his face, as he did, and the sun warming him...

I cried out in spite of myself. _The sun! I shouldn't be outside! _I thought wildly, flailing until I came to my senses. "Fool!" I said out loud. "That was not you but Abraham that enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He cannot burn and nor shall you down here, blathering idiot!" I reached out again to Abraham, and wondered if he could sense my gentle intrusion.

Curiously, I entered his mind and felt the sun again, his solid warm hands reaching to refill his glass, the hot harshness of the drink as it smoothly followed his throat down to his belly. I felt so heavy, as if I weighed more than I could probably stand. Yet with such grace that Abraham moved his supple human limbs, like a cat, one stretching before the other, symmetrical and precise and oh-so-beautiful. I pressed my cheek into my shoulder and stupidly lost myself inside the sensation of being inside the other, my tormentor, as he tried to gather his strength. Yet the one place I could not inhabit was his clever mind; his thoughts were barred to me forever.

Hours passed in that relaxing fashion. I slipped away into something like a sleep until the great doors opened to permit Abraham to enter again. I looked up at him, trying not to let my trepidation show as I mildly greeted him, "You look a horror, Herr Doctor. You would do well not to undertake such strenuous activities at night, old man." I smiled darkly, my white hair and mustache lighting up like silver in the glow from his lamp.

"I'm glad to see you care for my well-being," Abraham replied without the vaguest hint of sincerity. "Now be still, my good servant. There is too much work to be done tonight for us to be bickering." He placed the lamp next to my head; its searing light blinded me on that side.

His warmth soothed me, though I hated his use of "servant" in reference to me. Was my mind losing its grip on reality? But I was prepared for the familiar sight of the dagger. I steeled my will against fear and smoothly bared my courteous smile, the one I had once worn for only Jonathan to charm the young eager man into telling me everything and doing naught but my will. "Does this excite you, Abraham Van Hellsing? Having me completely at your mercy?" I squirmed my body somewhat erotically for emphasis, and rejoiced in small victory to see his eyes narrow and his lips purse.

"I said be still," he growled, pricking his wrist in the same place once again. He snatched my hand and twisted it cruelly so the palm faced downward. His work was swift and merciless, and my hand convulsed in his wicked grasp. He did the same with the other. I twisted my head, smile still firmly pasted on my face, as the pain thrummed in my ears. In our small pool of light, with only ourselves to account for, it felt almost romantic... the scent of his blood and mine was a quick aphrodesiac. My body was unjustly acting of its own will; Abraham thankfully did not notice.

All of it felt too intimate. If I were to begin to call him by "master", then to what end? His breath gently fanned over my sweating skin. His hand was steady. The grip on my forearm was strong. I felt the blood throbbing through his fingerstips. I wanted to sit up more, and clamp my teeth around his thick neck and suck hard. But nothing came of those desires. I trembled and let the pain fill me with need.

"Van Hellsing," I called, to distract him from his work. He didn't even twitch an eyebrow. Frustration gnawed at my being. I was starved for attention. I was alone when he was not here. He was becoming something I could not abide: a light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel. "Damn it, look at me!"

He lifted the lamp and turned to walk away once he was through. My hands tingled and felt like dead weights. He had not stopped to feed me; I reached out my mind to him and shocked myself dumb with the realization that he _was_ aroused. His stiff organ in its cramped space had put him in a foul mood, and pride would not let him show it. In spite of myself, I laughed at him as he hurried from the room to his great shame.

Who would wait out this game? How long would I persist here in this dank, miserable hole while he walked free in the sunlight, a master of his own house?

* * *

The ritual continued for months. Each night he came to me, a lamp raised before him to send the darkness scurrying into the corners. Each night I looked forward to his arrival, a smile for him, my body his canvas. The scent of him drenched into my clothes to torture me when I couldn't find sleep in the day. He repeated the sigils every night, and once every week would greet me with his robed companion for the body sigils. The agony was sweeter every time. If my harsh, heavy breathing had any effect on his state of arousal, he hid it beneath a heavy jacket. He would leave me robbed of my pride; but I had no freedom, I had nothing. My sanity disintegrated. He was my world, my doorway into the world I craved to touch, to taste. I wanted to drink from his glass that he kept so close by his side. I wanted to touch the rough skin of his hands and kiss that mirthless smile when he offered it.

I stopped speaking to him. When I spoke, he told me to be quiet. When I shouted at him, he had cut my body so deeply that I was in a fiery torment for hours and refused to feed me. The day proved the hardest part of my existence. I screamed and screamed at the four walls. Nothing helped. With each arrival, his face looked drawn and his face so pale, so empty. He was killing himself!

At last, he did not come down. For three nights, not a scent of him passed underneath the door. I reached out everywhere in desperation to find him, to go into his body and see with his eyes to figure out where he was, what was keeping him from me. I was jealous of whatever drew his attention so far away from me.

On the fourth night, I was in fits. I pulled at my shackles harder than I should have, broke my bones doing so, and was sick with want of blood when the doors suddenly burst open and in he came, his eyes filled with sharp emotion.

"I do apologize," he greeted, "but my son had the pox and I needed to be away to see that he became well again." His words faded at the sight of me. "Servant, what's wrong with you?"

"You left me," I wheezed, voice raw from crying out for him. I was half-mad, still pulling my body to reach out for him. "You left me, you son of a bitch! Oh God, I hurt!"

Abraham stood by, a peculiar frown on his face. He put down the bag he carried and moved to my side. At his touch I bucked. His hand rested just above where my unbeating heart lie. A furtive moan escaped me. His skin was scorching hot and I, so cold, wanted more even if it hurt. I wanted warmth - his warmth.

"Call me by my proper title," he intoned, pulling his hand away suddenly. I wailed in despair. "If you should call me Master, you will languish here no more. You will become a servant of Hellsing and thereby a tool of the Crown and of God. Vanquish your kind and be rewarded with respect and equal treatment."

"I will not be your servant!" I howled, spit flying from my lips. "I am no man's servant!! I hate you, Abraham Van Hellsing! Damn you, damn you to black Hell!!"

Abraham Van Hellsing looked at me again, stony-eyed, his lips pursed in quiet contemplation. I had no effect on his confidence at all. I started to sob uncontrollably and twisted myself away so he couldn't see. No matter how much I tried, how hard I kept myself in check, my volatile emotions escaped my control at every turn. I wanted to crawl underneath a stone and rot forever.

"Then I shall punish you further until you learn," he said at last. He turned to shut the door and bar it - he had not barred it before. I listened to him open his bag and place instruments on the stone slab beside me.

"Do it," I ejaculated, snarling in his general direction. "But you shall never have my faith willingly."

A knife penetrated my stomach just below the navel, and slashed up. Blood and gore sprayed the ceiling. The lamp guttered a moment before burning on just as brightly. He autopsied my flesh while I watched. First my ribs, virgin white, laid bare. A sinister heart lay beneath that cage, unbeating. Ropes of glistening intestines lay uselessly in its cavity, nestled and bound tight. I could not dare to breathe. The sigils on my hands were burning.

"Just call out my name," Abraham intoned softly, almost placatingly, "and you will be accorded your rightful place at my side, free to walk the halls. I know the garden is particularly lovely at night."

I bit my tongue.

"This resistence is fairly futile. You suffer in vain, by your own hand."

I shook my head, tears squeezing past my tightly shut eyes.

Abraham looked on, nothing more but a soft gleam of sadness in his wrinkled eyes. I know because I looked when he did not speak. He touched my hand, and the sigil pulsed once. "I cannot bear to do this anymore. There is no means on earth to see you destroyed, Dracula. Tell me now the means to make you desire a place in this world, with me. Stop being such a stubborn child."

I felt my lips quirk into a tiny smile. "That's not my name, is it... You said that. Did you find me another name?"

The man stroked my hand slowly, and I swooned. He folded my flesh over my bones, and by my own power all evidence vanished. I was so thirsty now. He touched a blade to his wrist. Quick, tiny spurts filled my mouth; my lips closed over the free wound, and every inch of me quivered. I raised my head and watched his face carefully as I suckled like a lamb. His hand moved to my hair, stroking it. I shuddered, eyes rolling back. My lips fumbled with the unfamiliar words: "Master. My Master."

"Alucard." The shackles disappeared. I felt a heady thrill race through my spine. "Rise now. Walk with me."

* * *

He gave me a coat to wear and I followed him through the doors into the hallway wearing it draped over my shoulders like a blanket. It was well on to night, and the sleeping souls around me breathed deeply as I passed by. His hand pressed my shoulder, stayed there firmly, while the other lifted the lantern before us to get to an open fresco doorway that led into a sumptuous garden. He let me go as I wanted. I tipped my head back and let the full chill of the moon caress me with her light. He stayed by the door, like a doting parent watching a child frolick.

I did not frolick long. I only listened long at the garden's edge to hear for the song I had not heard in so long. Only silence greeted me. I returned to his side and somehow found myself kneeling on the cold stones that lined the garden path. His fingertips seared my cheek in a caress that suggested a sort of torbid ownership. With my head raised, he bent close, closer. He stared into my face as if searching for any hitherto untraceable signs of heresy and disobedience. The scrutiny was uncomfortable, but his mouth was close. I wanted to touch it. I raised my hand, but his fingers caught my wrist.

"I merely--" I began, before choking back my words. He pulled my hand to his mouth; I watched his mouth and my stomach clenched into a ball. One digit disappeared past the infamous lips that tormented me. His mouth was warm and wet, and his tongue delicately lapped the sensitive pad of that digit gently.

Another bid for ownership. "I can do with you as I please," he said, dropping my hand, to himself almost. Then he smiled and reached for a cigar from his jacket. "But only when I feel the need."

I was still reeling with conflicting desires - to hate him more, or to lust for him. I stood by him in the quiet dark, crickets singing their mating hymns, while he indulged in a smoke. I couldn't stand how badly I craved more touches from him. I was his slave, no matter what "rewards" might be reaped from obedience. If this was all I was reduced to, a slathering fool for every aching touch he could give me, then I would much rather he left me in that hole to decay.

As if on cue, he turned away and went indoors. Stupidly I followed. When he turned to face me, he looked incredulous. "What did I tell you? I said you could do whatever you pleased. Explore this place to your heart's content. You will not be able to harm a soul in this house, for there is magic that prevents you now from doing so."

I watched him retire to his room. It was the first time he would sleep during the night. I balked at the audacity.

So I explored. Confident in my own abilities, I found I could leap as high as I ever could, turn into mist at will, and creep into any one room that I wanted. However, I could not draw near enough to feel their breath on my skin. They slept on, unharmed, while I watched. I did not want to do them any injury. But I was so curious, I wanted to understand how this magic worked.

So many questions! I had no time to answer them all right then. When satisfied that my abilities were in proper form, I crept to Abraham's quarters. There, I was halted at once, and found I could not budge an inch more toward his door. I clenched my teeth. So I was not permitted to his private sanctuary, but he could penetrate my own? I saw no fairness in that! However, I found that plenty of the rooms on one wing were empty. I drew the curtains in one suite so that not a bit of sunlight could stab through. I tried to crawl atop the soft mattress. Minutes later, I crawled to the floor and beneath the bed on the dull, dust-layered carpet like a veritable reptile.

Monsters sleep underneath beds, not atop them.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Ahh... I guess this is just one of those stories spawned from an idle mind. Dracula is food for my hungry sponge-like brain. I drink from its pages like a vampire drinks from mortals. No, not by BITING THEM. That would be weird, biting paper. Erm, this chapter has an adult situation that I skimmed to save grace. I think I need to put an "M" on this story...

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I was roused by a peculiar stinging in my flesh - all of my sigils pulsed in time to some savage beat. Thinking of how to end the sensation, I crept from darkness and to the long marble corridors I went. The halls bustled in the distance with life; I could smell some late meal cooking. It was Abraham, my Master, who called me. Somehow, deep within me, I knew it was so and that I must come at his command. I held my tongue from complaining too much. The lanterns in the hallway did not cast my shadow; I moved without a sound to a quiet study, where Abraham now sat with his perfect posture and his perfect teeth and that glass sitting by him.

"Good." He nodded at me, then turned the page of a book he had balanced on one knee. His legs were crossed, his food was untouched before him. He seemed utterly engrossed in his task. I still wore the jacket he had let me borrow, and I slowly put it across the back of another chair and approached him; I appeared no better than my stay in the dungeon. I leaned over his desk and scowled at him, invoking every emotion as minions. He looked up and noted the red in my eyes, the demonic gleam that usually held so many in thrall. He alone remained unaffected.

I confronted him in words, "To what purpose did you call me out of sound slumber, O Master?"

"I will frankly tell you that you look a monster," he said, and his lips bent in that smile again. My stomach convulsed at the sight of him rising himself from his chair. "I will not abide you walking the grounds looking as you do."

"I don't take your meaning," I glowered, reaching to rub at my face.

"Alucard," he commanded, and my spine went rigid, and every bit of blood in my body bent to that word with a horrifying expectancy. "Come with me."

My body turned and my feet moved, following the man into a second room. The washroom had a mirror. I bore no reflection whatsoever and I hated the sight of it. He prepared water in the basin and turned toward me with a straight-edge razor. He put a damp, hot towel to my face with every motion calculated and precise and poetry. I stood perfectly motionless, a statue with eyes that followed every movement, yet he showed no sign of being disconcerted at my inaction. His hands were gentle but his skin was rough, applying shave cream to a face that had never been touched so carefully by mortal hands. In that application, his face came very close to mine - moments of captivating intimacy. I flinched from the razor once.

"These are purposeless vestiges of a past best forgotten," he said about my modest silver facial hair. "You belong to me, and you do not represent the Hellsing Organization looking like a savage raider."

I glared at him darkly, though any complaints died away in the gentle pleasurable thrills that resulted while he manuevered my head this way and that way. Though he could never cut me with a simple razor, he took care not to try. That alone was enough to perplex me. He wiped me clean with the damp towel; then he bent stepped closer than he had before, and put his hand at my hip and touched his cheek against mine. The warmth in his face was fairly mind-blowing. His breath expelled against my ear; my entire composure collapsed and I reached to embrace him, and my hunger rose like a tidal surge of blood.

Then he pulled away from me all too suddenly, briskly nodded at his handiwork, and turned to start the bath.

I touched my face again. Smooth from the sharp edge and warm from the towel, like a child's flesh. I felt very strange, dizzy like nothing before. Somehow I knew that the growth of fuzz on my face would not return with a single day's rest. I rather liked the feel of nothing there.

Then, that coy bastard - or, I should say, my lovely, darling Master - turned to greet me with, "Take off your pants."

I narrowly escaped embarassment by doing so then and there; what little of my pride remained guarded me against foolish overeagerness. The man turned from me again. As I lowered my tattered leggings, I questioned, "Will the water not burn me?"

"I don't think you have to fear from any water, judging from how you came upon English shores." The tired roughness of his voice belied the vitality thrumming through him; I could feel it rushing headlong along the hot corridors inside his veins. I licked my lips and there stood before Van Hellsing a naked devil. My body was not a mystery to me, nor its highly desirable facets that many found desirable. I had good proportions, a build made by the dark gift of hard, athletic muscle in a sheath of white, translucent skin.

I wished harder than before to read what went on in his thoughts as he turned eyes on me.

"To think," he said aloud, "that a creature like yourself can take such a pleasing form." Through our link, I detected a rising heat in him, concentrated in the locale of his lower belly. He could no more wish to hide his desire for me than he could fly. We were but ten steps away from one another. I smiled a slow, victorious smile. His heart quaked in its living cage of flesh and bone. What a fool, Master.

"Now," he fumbled, twisting his eyes away angrily. "Get into that tub, or I shall man-handle you in."

"What if I don't acquiesce to your humble request, Master?" I bantered, stepping backwards as if to reinforce my playful refusal. "Get into that tub yourself. I refuse to do your bidding any longer. I have been treated as no more than a stray taken in from the streets."

Van Hellsing's face could not betray anything, but the eyes are windows into the soul through which any can peer at emotions raging or soothed. His stony visage and tight-lipped mouth would have been enough to put anyone ill at ease, but it was his eyes that gave away his potent rage. Quick for a mortal, he closed the distance and reached to snatch my neck with his hand - no movement any less or more than was needed - and pushed me to my knees with a sharp command:

"_Sit, Alucard_."

Dumb-founded, I sat right there on the cold wooden floor with a little thump. He switched his grasp to my hair and pulled it, hard, and I tilted my head to follow the direction of his effort, crawling. I did not move very far, for there he stopped half-way to the bath and looked down contemplatively at my face. I realized that I did not much need to read his thoughts to know what was passing through his mind at that very instant; his eyes followed mine to the warm flesh between his thighs, protected from sight by cloth. I was ever so much closer to doing something than he was. I felt sick to my stomach; this was not promising, I can tell you.

"Master," I said unsteadily, pulling away from that offensive arousal.

He put his hand down at his side with that infamous ability of grace. He raised his lips in a humorless smile. "Alucard."

I put my hands over my ears, but my eyes were pinned to his mouth and I could hear his words even through the insubstantial flesh of my hands. The command was short, sweet, simple. No words more than was necessary; I felt my sigils screaming, and I crawled close, laying my hands along his thighs, raking my pointed nails over his skin, a hate so strong for him for what he was reducing me to.

The bathroom was ours for the while, and I, the larger fool for my arrogance, gave good Master just what he wanted. As his breathing roughened, his body went rigid and soft all at once, his taste forever locked into my memory. He dug his fingers into my shoulders, head back, gasping as he came hard. I wanted to bite down, to render him useless to any woman (or man, as it now stands) - but the magic that bound me from harming other mortals in this house also barred me from doing him injury.

Barely able to keep from choking, I shut my eyes, forced myself to try and remember; sweet night-children, their song that lasted hours into bleak forever, my lullaby. Don't think. Don't look at him.

When I opened my eyes again, I caught sight of his back as he left the room. I spat into the sink and washed it out with water, but the memory of the taste haunted me. Trembling with impotent rage, the hot water didn't scald me but gave me a satisfying sensation of "clean" that made me relax a little more. I could not know whether he was ashamed; I did know that if I wanted to win this contest of master versus servant, then I would not - could not - allow myself the luxury of morals. I was a monster, and I wanted to do whatever I could to hurt him.

I had a weapon to use against him. Many, really, at my disposal, were quite handy in seducing that whom they called Lucy and Mina, too. I gloated in the bath. I was not in the least bit slandered now. Van Hellsing would go mad with wanting me. We were the same in that our insufferable pride was our downfall.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: So, yeah. I was a bad little writer last chapter, but it's time to get serious now. Alucard must become learned in all the new methods in which he must bend his strength toward killing his own kind.

* * *

The rest of the previous night went on without incident; Abraham hid himself in his room where every attempt to get close to his door was repelled by a jarring sensation of pain. Thwarted by the alchemy, I turned away to on blood stored for my use alone and to reading.

The next night, while combing back my hair with my hands to look presentable, I noticed that I had - for lack of a better word - more hair than before. While it was still white, there was a marked improvement on its overall mass. I blinked and scowled. I had no choice in the matter, but I admitted only to myself that I did not mind.

I had crawled out from underneath my bed (where I found it was most pleasing to sleep, and I was much closer to mortals whose thoughts entertained me during my sleepless daylight hours). I continued undeterred to the closet of the same room I had been using for my sleep. The closet was full of slick attire for a middle-class gentleman. I hated the middle class, but I could pass for someone with money in a dark gray overcoat, a white pressed shirt and matching gray slacks. I could not hope to view myself in a mirror, but I had a sense of taste no human could match. I great small pleasure in thinking of ways to use my new secret weapon against my master, whom I held in deepest ill regard.

So far I had avoided discovery by those during the day, but as I entered Abraham's study for what seemed like the first time after what had happened, he turned in his chair and said irritably, "One of my maids saw you while she was routinely cleaning house. She thought at first she was suffering a head fever and working too hard when she had spied a man underneath one of the beds. I told her it was nothing."

"I woke up in the same room," I said, "so you didn't move me?"

"I also bade her to leave that room alone for the time being and take a rest." He lifted a cigar to his lips, distracted by my laughter. "What's so humorous?"

"Nothing," I replied with a twisted smile. "May I inquire," I went on in a conversational drawl, "how is your son?"

There! My secret trap thus sprung, I waited for him to squirm like a coyote in its metal jaws. Abraham willfully ignored the inquiry, but I could sense by touching him telepathically that it had troubled him, quickening his heart with a passionate emotional response and sending his blood to heat his face. Deeply troubled, in fact. I leaned forward expectantly, while he sucked smoky poison into his mouth and let it out in a great choking cloud. I decided that I hated the smell, like old burning kindling.

"There has been a vampire," he said suddenly, lifting his eyebrows in a suggestion for great importance. "In the streets, feeding from young women."

"And what? I sniff him out, flush him into the open? I tear him apart like a savage guard beast?" I floundered mentally; perhaps I would have to peck at this subject of his son like a hen, until the ramparts fall and his composure is fair game to being broken. If I could not find out that way, I could always uncover the hier to the Van Hellsing's name myself through studious means. For now, however, I was curious as to the nature of this new task.

"The first part has already been completed for you. However, I have omitted the most important information regarding your new existence, Alucard." Once again, he used that new name that I hated since he had used it in such a disgusting way. However, when he said it, I felt a closeness... a tightly guarded desire to hear him say it again. He poured himself yet another amber glass. Abraham certainly was a man of many vices.

"Look at the marks on your hands," he said, tipping his nose at my hands.

I had taken to wearing white gloves to cover the marks, but the sigils' light bled through like spilt blood. The marks drawn into my hands were two perfectly circular pentegrams, framed by two concentric circles which within their confined space contained archaic symbols. Between the lines of the pentagrams were more such scribbles. I had noticed them before but could not figure out the riddle of them, except for one glaringly obvious rune for "enslavement". These were shackles made of sorcery.

"What of them?"

"You can't read them, I see. I will illuminate. Those symbols are more than just spells for imprisonment. Those are specific designs against evil - your kind. With your bare hands, you can undo the dark threads that bind their ungodly bodies together and set their souls free. You are a weapon of God now. You can use any weapon at your disposal to rid the world of weaker specimens of vampire, and protect the innocent lives at stake."

I looked at the symbols again. Fascinating! I wondered what powers I now possessed that I was not aware of before. "Let me at this lowlife. I'll have him undone just to see how this 'magic' works."

"That's the spirit!" The doctor stood up quickly and circled around. He passed by with a sudden squeeze on my forearm, as if he was glad for my company and my good nature. Good nature! I suffered from two conflicting daydreams. I fancied tearing him apart and feeding the remains to his mysterious son. The other was latching onto his throat and making his body his personal Judas, to bend to satisfy my various appetites.

The vampire he spoke of quickly dispelled my daydream. I hadn't sensed him before because he was hardly worth my supernatural attention. A young man hardly worth the stubble on his chin of 17 years cowered in the basement where he was kept at bay with an array of crucifixes, garlic, and ranged round him buckets of holy water. He was a little more than a fledgling, with decades under his belt to spare. Nowhere near the power that centuries had given me! I held back out of instinct but for my Master, who took my hand and led me within. I felt uncomfortable, like cramps in my belly, but I could perservere against old weaknesses now.

Two other men were in the room as well. I hadn't noticed them before. One of them had a face like a bird of prey, a hawk-like nose and a long white winding scar from his left temple down to the left corner of his mouth. He gazed at me; every atom in my body quivered. His left eye was a milky white, while the other was a dark webbed amber. He had a severe way around him. Even more peculiar, he wore on his lanky person a simple black trenchcoat over another jacket; it was stiflingly hot in this room even for me to take notice. The other man was fat, wearing suspenders with a swallow-tail coat, a shirt stained with sweat, his tie collar loosened to keep him from becoming faint, and trousers held up by a thick leather belt.

They both peered at me with equally intense scrutiny (and the corpulent one gazed more with fear, beads of sweat on his face like cheese).

"These men will bear witness. The tall gentleman is Sir Pendragon. The other is Sir Dupries. They belong to the Knights of the Round Table, as do I."

My lips moved to smile in a most insolent manner. "To make sure their dog will stay obedient to their cause?"

Van Hellsing scowled at my scorn. "Go to the task. That is your order, servant Alucard."

My sigils sizzled; I had but to obey to be free of the agony. I walked through the barriers made against the little bat now flapping on the floor, helpless and terrified and oh so alone. He squeaked at me:

"Oh, human devils! Help me, brother! help me!" His tiny voice was piercing and miniscule. He abandoned his bat form in an eyeblink and ran the short distance to me. Without thinking, I caught him on my hand - out-stretched not in friendship but fingers extended like a spear. The little vampire impaled himself on my hand, and the magic sigils exploded with searing, purifying fire that hurt my eyes; my pupils shrank and I felt the body suspended on my hand turn to dust and crumble at my feet. The remains still smoldered a peculiar cerulean the color of a midday sky.

"Remarkable," said the scarred gentleman.

"Im-impossile!" the other man said, wiping gobs of sweat from his fat face with a perfumed handkerchief.

I looked at my master. The power that rended this little one into dust made me feel blood-drunk, as if I had gorged myself on his very soul. I swayed on my feet and then collapsed outright before my Master, head bent, swallowing my words of reproach at the inhumane, the gruesome evil that made me this THING... I knew not what to call myself. I could not call myself a nosferatu if this - this alien power - coursed through my very flesh.

"Now write down your reports; record all that is going through your mind if you can. It is good to keep the ideas on paper, for you cannot trust important events to memory." I felt his hand on my the top of head, and it seared me. He spoke to his compatriots and I listened for their retreating footsteps.

"Are you ill?" Was there a touch of concern in his voice? I laughed haughtily and said nothing.

As we left the desolate tomb of the vampire, Abraham placed his hand on my shoulder firmly to halt my progress. I was nearly tempted to continue on without acknowledgment, but there was a jolt passed along his extended fingertips into my shoulder. Immediately submerged in his perspective, I saw myself as he did: frozen in place, with a tremor in my immortal frame, and feeling every sluggish motion of his arm as he brought it down to my other shoulder. He embraced me.

"If you don't take well to this talk of war, then... you are the shining hope of humanity. If you have any left of your own..." He slid his hand over my chest and clenched his fist in my shirt beneath my coat. I came back to myself and suffocated in the heat radiating from him. "You loved Mina Harker, didn't you?" I kept my teeth behind my lips, and my forked tongue behind them. All I wanted was to get away from his poisonous body, which radiated everything I could ever possibly come to hate - and want.

"You and your petty romances. I thought you a more sensible man than this. If you want to rut like pigs in a sty with me, haven't you the words to command it so?" I shrugged him off like a moth-eaten cloak. Then I turned and, in mocking salute, swept into a deep bow. "I am yours now, my Master. Leash, muzzle and all!" Despair was hard to swallow. Not that it mattered. It would be the better part of a diet consisting of donated bottles of cold blood.

* * *

Paris, France. Hamburg, Germany. Liverpool. I toured Europe with Van Hellsing at the other end of my metaphysical leash, hovering in the background with his firm and sensible voice commanding my every move. It was four years of my life spent, filling my brain with knowledge on how to use weapons that I once feared against my own kind. I was an efficient killer. I made Abraham proud and often earned one or two sincere smiles.

I ravaged his library, devouring encyclopedeias within a single night. As I had no library of my own, many of the books bored me to frustration - though I enjoyed his collection of medical journals as much as he did. When I had exhausted every possible page to pass the time, I began to sleep in the basement-made-living-quarters. I slept because Abraham would not have me near him, as he would shut himself away for hours at night in his forbidden places. He often went away to Amsterdam to see his ailing child, who was often ill. These prolonged absences drove my mind closer to choking black madness. The only satisfaction was the destruction of those wretched souls chained to this earth by the thirst for hot fresh blood. I did not exist otherwise. As I was a good pet, he would call and there I would go running with all pretenses of obedience. I must have struck a startling picture, a madman with silver hair, cleanshaven face contorted into a slathering maw of razor-sharp teeth.

They cried out for mercy, until my legend spread among others that there was a betrayer among their kind who now walked the night to end their existence. As befitting a vampiric evangelist working for the sake of humanity, I was the Betrayer - a title that carries with me to this day. So many vampires died during those years and those that followed that the name perished with them and none could live to tell my tale.

My first gift befitting a house-trained nosferatu was my very own coffin which arrived after the fourth year's anniversary. Abraham had it shipped all the way to the Hellsing Estate, and it came on a wagon drawn by four brilliant black beasts whose eyes were shot with silver in the rising moon. That night, Abraham had brought me outside to recieve it. Of late, he had not spoken to me for a long time about anything but business. I nearly wept at the sight of something so familiar. Yet instead of thanking him for his generosity, I grew hateful against his act of kindness. I saw it as another means of getting what he wanted from me: more obedience.

"What's wrong?" He must have seen the shadow over my eyes and placed his hand with marked gentleness on my shoulder once again.

"You torment me with false acts of kindness."

"Alucard, are you still lingering...?" His hand moved to my neck and no one noticed how his fingers stroked silver hair so he could reach my skin. "You are cold to the bone, aren't you? You cannot even summon a single 'thank you' to your pale, unsmiling lips." Dissatisfied, he pivoted on his heel with the sound of a gunshot and stalked back indoors.

Later that night, the long hours pervaded with the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey. I lay sleepless on a lounge when I felt a cringing convulsion in my scars; my master called. I went to him and realized I was within his quarters. It made some sense that if he should call from within his own room, I would be able to pass through in order to complete the objective successfully and without fail, or he had somehow disengaged the magic to let me enter.

With a single lantern illuminating the rough lines in his face, his brows drawn together almost so that they came together completely, my Master looked like an old man carved out of granite. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was dressed for sleep, though the sheets were cold due to his absence. He seated himself in a chair at his writing desk, a half-finished letter to Dr. Arthur Seward before him. I read the first line easily from the distance:

"My old student, I am much plagued with nightmare and so ill with guilt that I have refrained from visiting for the time being. I wish that I could tell you--"

The words blurred and the paper disappeared beneath a blank sheet.

"Guilt," I mused aloud, perplexed.

"You are most unhappy."

"I cannot imagine why, Master--"

"Enough with the titles!" He smacked his hand on the table.

"But isn't that your name? I can't call you anything else! Or it would seem unbecoming if I were to appear more human than I am allowed," I snapped back, taken aback by his outburst.

"You are a most frustrating beast!" he cried, rising suddenly and pointing his finger at my face in a threatening manner. "You are Alucard, Hellsing's best and most prized agent. You're as much an individual as I or anyone who works here!"

"My purpose is clearly defined," I sent back, "as no more than a weapon. Don't you dare begin to think otherwise, for that will be the day you fall, mighty Hellsing!"

I leaned forward and put my hands on his desk and smiled so close by his face that I could smell his aftershave potently. In a fit of drunken passion, fingers sank right into my jacket and pulled me - I let him - off-balance. I landed on the table onto my stomach. I felt his hand press into my spine, pinning me like an insect. Again, I could easily have thrown off his hold without harming him but I did no such thing. I smiled as my hand slipped and found the letter and quickly stuffed it into my pocket.

"What will you do now?" I challenged, twisting my head to glare at him. "Beat the willful mongrel till he obeys?"

Something hard connected with the back of my head; stars sprang up before my eyes. I caught his hand with the object just as he was about to bring it down again. It was a small metal statue in the shape of a wolf's head.

I brought my leg underneath me and sat up on top of his writing desk, eyes darkening with hunger as I saw his mortal terror blossom like night flowers in his eyes under his dark bushy eyebrows. I knew what he felt as my presence, compressed into the space between us, grew like a storm, electricity crackling between atoms, between flesh.

"I hate you, old man," I whispered. He pressed closer, dropping the wolf's head and pulling me close enough to push me down onto the desk again.

Van Hellsing growled, "Alucard." His grip changed to my throat. "Lay back and be still."

This time, I did not shut my eyes. My mouth twisted into a sardonic, teeth-filled smile as he took me, his body reeking of a man's odor, of booze and vice. As long as I had that letter, I was confident I could read it before the other would notice it was gone. I peered into his eyes, investing so much of my hate into the gaze I held with him.

He came away, and I wondered if he felt as disgusted by his actions as I was. I adjusted my clothes to look more like my proper fiendish self and crept from the room, laughing at him as if I had never been put in my place.

Outside, in the late night, the wolves serenaded the cold white moon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:** Okay, here we go. I made a few mistakes, confusing John and Arthur's last names as Seward. Damn english names all sound alike anyway. All right. A lot of things happening in this chapter, and a lot of new information to digest. I'm slowly losing my will to continue this but I'll do my best...mutter mutter

* * *

The words were an out-pouring on paper of deep emotions; I hardly felt that I was intruding on his privacy when he could do such awful, monstrous things to me.

"Dearest John,

My old student, I am much plagued with nightmare and so ill with guilt that I have refrained from visiting you and your loved ones. I wish I could pen the words of the fairy-tale nightmare I've suddenly been immersed in but as soon as the words attempt the journey toward paper, they are thwarted by shame. By my soul I am sworn to secrecy. You would not believe me if I told you, and if you could find it in your mind to do so you would have nothing but hate in your heart.

All along the riverbanks are people who are helpless to the changes overcoming this country. Since I have moved here, I see them every day when I travel back and forth from Amsterdam to check on my son. They are wretched and hungry; these are the people that are plagued most by the all-terrible vampire, but it is to the aristocrats that I give my services.

John, I can write no more on the subject. I hope you are well on in life. My son is doing fine now. I adopted him from the local agency after our adventure with Dracula. He is not an ill boy anymore, and is getting along well at the Academy in Amsterdam. He laments that it is no good to live so far away from his father and expresses a need to move here with me, but - and here I must take care what goes onto paper - I must insist he stay at his own benefit. There are terrible things I must keep secret from those I love and hold dearest to me, or we shall all fall into darkness.

I am damned, friend John. I preside over a dark kingdom and it is filled with demons. If I had not met Sir Pendragon, none of this would have come to pass."

The letter remained unfinished. I sat in my squallid basement quarters on a hard wooden chair, reread it again, then I took a pen and finished it myself; then I folded it up. He could not correspond with any of his old compatriots, lest they think him a cohort of the devil or some ridiculous thing. He must believe them to be simple-minded idiots!

By the time he even realized the letter was gone, hopefully my Master would not feel the confrontation worth it to get it back.

As morning crept on, I resisted the urge to sleep and went about the estate as a mortal, keeping my teeth carefully locked behind a close-lipped smile as I spoke with the staff for the first time. It was very easy to make myself comfortable among them. They smiled and stupidly swallowed the fairy tale of my being Van Hellsing's friend that is staying over from Amsterdam for work. I introduced myself as Maarten Wagner. They marveled at my perfect English and unaltered whiteness of my hair; I told them I was to handle all of Van Helsing's new affairs concerning mail and that I had a letter for the postman should he arrive this morning.

As luck would have it, the postman had come and delivered the letter straight away to John Seward. I smiled on my way to my coffin, content that I had escaped punishment for the moment. Van Hellsing's letter would go to John Seward, just as planned.

"Have done with this slavery," I said quietly, sipping a glass of warmed blood. "This I promise: Van Hellsing shall suffer in his last days!"

----

What horror! I never expected Van Hellsing to be clever.

The letter was forwarded back to the Estate as per protocal concerning all letters as I later found out, and my master Van Hellsing laid eyes on it and almost fell out of his chair. It was not meant to be so, but still, the letter had been sent to John Seward and it was with grim satisfaction that I waited for my master to come to deliver his punishment to me. Meanwhile, I reprimanded myself for my stupidity. Four years in the service of mortals had made me a trained house-vampire, dumbed down to the level of a pure idiot. While I waited, I convinced myself that if Hellsing should come, I would bear my fangs and fight against everything that bound me to his words, with everything I had. This would be hard and no doubt immensely painful, but no more wounding than doing his every bidding.

Yet that following night, he never came to claim his right to hurt me. Nor the next. I walked out into the corridors during the day, and nothing seemed to have changed at all. Maarten Wagner went about his business without interruption.

As I prowled the corridors around Van Hellsing's quarters, hoping to tempt fate, I interrupted the virgin maid from my work. She was still a quaint and homely little virgin, but it was her eyes I immediately loved - as if they were wide, innocent saucers full of honey which doubtlessly drew the men like flies to devour her.

She seemed embarassed to be caught in her work, but I insisted that it was not so. "Indeed," I purred, brushing her hair from those engaging eyes of hers, "I think that crimson in your cheeks makes you a living rose in the flesh - soft, delicate, and perfect."

Trembling like a doe as I laid my hands on her face, she dropped the feather duster to the floor and swooned, then stammered an apology and ran away. I swallowed the laugh of mockery creeping up my chest when I felt a heavy, warm hand land on my shoulder, underscored by the words, "Come with me."

I followed Van Hellsing to his quarters, and stood well away from him and his desk. He looked a horror, dark circles under his eyes, and his unshaven face broken by strange scratches. "I've made a terrible mistake," he said suddenly. "Concerning this Pendragon character. He has ulterior motives that I have not foreseen... and I, being the greater fool, have need of your services."

"Sir Pendragon?" I conjured his face in my memory. It was the night I had slain that wretched vampire; I recalled the scar and that one single horrifying eye. I smiled wickedly. "What has he done to you? And why should it ever concern me? I kill vampires, not men, these days."

I wanted to know more, but I knew information would come with patience. Sir Pendragon may be an ill-fated bastard, but I would use whatever means I could to buy my freedom through him. Van Hellsing would soon become no more than a quivering old fool, his blood caking my stomach. There was still hope, and I clung to it desperately like a drowning man.

"You are vampire slayer first, and protector second," Van Hellsing clarified. "Now sit down. I need to speak to you and it hurts to look up at you."

I pulled a chair closer and reclined in it, folding my arms and legs and listening to his story with no more interruptions.

Sir Pendragon, he admitted, was a terrible monster of a man. He only infrequently emerged into the world to do dark things for the one thing men crave more than anything: power. He had come to the queen herself under the name Pendragon, but his real name and motives remain quite anonymous. But he became a knight and boasted of knowledge concerning the world of the occult. That includes werewolves, pixies, changelings - things that have long been thought to be beyond the understanding of Man. Aye, even dragons were among the creatures listed under his expertise. I figured I would do well to listen. The more he told me, the more I found myself wanting to speak with Sir "Pendragon". The grave Van Hellsing nodded his head and wrung the edge of his chair's armrest.

"I need you to watch out for me. Be my eyes and ears, please. I know enough about this man to figure he will stop at nothing to get you in his clutches. Beware, Alucard! For this is the man whose dark magic made you mine." _And he can undo that work_, I thought, and hungrily wetted my mouth with a fresh coat of saliva. Oh, just for the hunting, the streets would again be mine!

"I will obey, my Master."

"Alucard... though you will undoubtedly obey my words, that was not an order." His eyes fell. I watched him pick up a pencil and write down an address on a slip of paper. "Alucard... go to the prison. Talk to a man there named Jenson. He will see to your meal tonight. Wear a suit of the Hellsing Organization; the insignia will buy you passage in. In fact, wear whatever you like and just bring a Hellsing badge with you."

"How am I to protect you tonight?" I teased gently, though I was highly perplexed and warmed by the weird and sudden generosity.

"Sir 'Pendragon' will be gone away to see to other matters in the Middle East."

I took the paper and the badge he slid toward me, and tried not to stare at the wolf's head statue when it finally came to my attention. "Why are you doing this, Van Hellsing?" I inquired softly.

"I don't know," he answered. I left the room and walked down the winding corridors, behind my smiling facade to those who met me along my way a gnawing scowl of anger.

How dare Van Hellsing treat me this way! I was confused and angry. One moment he could not wait to get his greasy, filthy hands on my body and the next, he was sending me out to dinner to dine among criminals. Most assuredly, Van Hellsing was the most infuriating--

I changed in a brilliant red trenchcoat, for I would not sneak into the prison like some of those within, common thieves. The streets - every corner with its haunts of ill meaning gentlemen at this hour - welcomed me. Though I moved unattended, I still had a leash, and felt it pulsing on my hands, in my skin, where his touches were. A winding pathway between two graveyards led me to the prison; time seemed to favor me, for a gentleman was coming out of the great locked doors. I presented my badge, and he nodded. "Oh, right. Sure. Let me get you inside to interrogate the man."

As the man led me within, the walls closed tight and the stink of repressed animals closed in as tightly as the doors. The further we went, the stronger the scent became, the oppressed stares of those within their cells. Innocent men's minds gabbled at me, until my temples ached.

My good attendant moved to a single cell with no bars but walls, and a single small window. Within, my meal awaited. He was a wretched man, with darting eyes. "I'm not tellin' you nothin'." He spat at me. "Now be a good mate, ay, and get out and don't let the door hit yer arse on the way out!"

The door closed. And my power, withheld until the guard was out of earshot, swelled and choked the man's angry words at the source. The feeding was good. But I had a bad habit of looking a gift horse in the mouth; I couldn't enjoy a drop of blood. It was hot and tasted sour, from a struggling body whose little tiny heart sputtered out in less than a couple of minutes. Invigorated, yet disappointed, I dropped the body to the floor. The guard at the door entered and wrapped the body in a sheet and the bloodless corpse was borne away to be burned to ashes and blessed to ensure the little bastard would not come back to bite me, so to speak.

On the walk back, my freedom was short. Rather than prolonging my jail visit, I made a direct route over the rooftops in bat-form to return to Van Hellsing. I could not but help think of how wane and haggard his face appeared in the weak lantern of his writing desk. I thought about that disturbing man Pendragon. I also thought about the letter, and I wondered just when my punishment would come. _Maybe he's forgotten in his old age, or simply... does not care. That's less likely than an angel descend from Heaven and smite me._

_Or maybe he's waiting for me to submit me to some appropriate torment. _Quivering as I alighted on the Estate grounds, I let myself disappear and navigate the shadows before coming to the edge of Van Hellsing's rooms. I let my presence be known to the maid that had been wandering there before, whose sweet smell sickened me. I was excited to see Hellsing, to see what he would do to me. When she returned, it was to tell me only that he had retired to bed and would not be disturbed.

"Why not?" I demanded, grabbing her and pushing her against the wall. "I should have the right to see him when I have need, when I have a legitimate reason! Go wake him! I want to see him!"

My voice rose to impossible levels. The girl shrieked and writhed to put her hands over her sensitive mortal ears. Her fear fanned my anger and I almost sent her flying toward Van Hellsing's office. She walked quickly, rushing so quickly she fell and unended one of the hallway tables. She righted it with a squeak, and dashed onward practically in tears. I paced outside the perimeter of the invisible wall, and waited until I felt Van Hellsing call me. When he did, practically nothing could stop me from enroaching on his privacy. I had never been in his bedroom before. It was humble. That was all I noticed before I threw back the sheets and crawled over him, glaring at him.

"What do you want from me?" he gasped.

"Likewise, Master." I pinioned his arms above his head, though I couldn't bring myself to hurt him. Something other than magic stopped me. "Tell me why. _Tell me why_."

"You're not being very clear," Van Hellsing, "but vampire, get off me. Speak to me like a proper man. Why...Why cry, Alucard?"

I stopped, realizing I was. It was embarassing. He pushed me away like he would a dog and I sat at the foot end of the bed, staring at my hands. I can't say why they were so terrifying. They no longer felt like my own. "Van Hellsing. I am... but a child, crying at every little thing. What can I do? You do know of the letter?"

"I know that you stole it, and sent it. But... this makes me not unhappy." He stared at me, tired beyond belief. Something was very wrong with him. And I realized: the man was old. He was going to die. Maybe very soon.

I did not know where to begin plotting, or feeling.

"Alucard, it does not matter how you may disobey me. This is where I must use you for more selfish reasons, but believe me that they are necessary ones. My son is coming to London to stay. I can't convince him otherwise. So this is what you must also do. Please look after him. Be his bodyguard at home and abroad. I trust you with his life, Alucard. Not because of the laws that bind you to obey. I beg you be kind, and do not let him know what you are at all costs."

More news! My head was swimming. I nodded, but couldn't help but ask, "I've been thinking... these past years. I thought you had no children of your own."

"Alas, I have but one adopted child. He is not my blood."

Another interesting fact. I tucked it away for later.

"I will do this for you then. When will he arrive?" I wiped my face with the back of my arm.

"Next week. He'll be staying among us while he pursues his work as a poet." Van Hellsing took a deep breath, started coughing. In a second I smelled blood and sickness.

He asked me to leave and let him rest. The woman was still there and looked terrified of me, or maybe what I would do to her master. I left him with a feeling of tightness and cold, so very cold, as if I had been starved for days. I was frightened for his health, plain and simple. But how could I be so frightened and yet so eager to betray him, kill him, and regain my precious freedom?

I wanted to be free... but had I become so enraptured by Abraham Van Hellsing that I was loathe to be free of him? I crawled into my coffin and nosed the earth from my homeland which was inside. I wasn't comforted as much. I thought about the boy, his son. How would the spell on me work if the boy did not have Van Hellsing blood in his veins? I shuddered. Would the whole bloody ritual need to be repeated? I shut my eyes and moaned softly; I was not afraid of the pain, but the concept of having a different master each time the previous ones fell to the cruel mistress Time... I couldn't bear it.

So. I was excited to see who this new Hellsing was. A poet? Somehow I felt that my Master had not told me all in his sleepless stupor. I decided to continue my plot to speak with the infamous Pendragon. Then perhaps, with my freedom, I would be free from the strange attachments I felt toward my unbidden mortal masters.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** I'm listening to Bang Bang by Nancy Sinatra. Very heartbreaking voice, that woman has. I think I shall make that song this fic's theme. Whee. And sorry 'bout not mentioning Van Hellsing's son until now. I wasn't really, _really _sure that Arthur Hellsing was his son or not. While I was reading Hellsing, I must have had the attention span of a six-year-old suffering from ADHD. And since in the novel Dracula, Van Hellsing said he isn't married and has no children, and often says he wishes one character was his own son, which I forgot, but since this adopted son is named after Arthur-- I don't know. Anyway. I'll shut up now. No more history lessions for me. Also, I edited this chapter for content indiscrepencies I noticed. I couldn't focus on this chapter at ALL, with things going on...

----

The week blissfully went without event. I jealously guarded my activities from Abraham's knowledge even if the attempt at anonymity failed. I finally learned the name of Van Hellsing's child. It was Arthur - which made me laugh out loud and earn a glare from the old man. I kept a journal for two days before I quickly lost interest, my final line of the second read: "Why should the perfect immortal feel obliged to become a historian? There is nothing more dull than recording the unchanging morals of a heartless beast." I wrote less in my journal, fairly one or two lines. Cryptic things like, "What a beautiful night. Shame that my master must sleep while I alone enjoy it."

I wrote letters to Abraham that I would never send, then made it my habit to burn them so that a little pile of ashes formed in the corner of my room until the accountant complained of the waste of cost, investing in paper that I kept burning.

Then suddenly it came again. My master found me in the library reading books I had already read before and called me out to the corridor. His warm hand on my shoulder, he said, "Pendragon is coming to strengthen our ...bond. Arthur is to be present as well. His blood will be added to the ceremony at some other time, but I want him to see for himself the work that is done. He has told me he is of an open mind and heart. I know I've told you that he must not know what you are, but I realized last night that he must, for how is he to inherit the Organization as its leader... and you. "

My blood turned even colder at the prospect of more torture. And now I was even more desperate to escape from Arthur. I needed to speak to Pendragon alone before this precedure would take place. But how?

It was, Abraham said, time to reinforce my chains with more infusions of blood. Perhaps not surprisingly, Sir Pendragon would be the man within the black cloak, waving smoke and burning branches over me and letting the scalding embers burn into my flesh. Before that ever happened... I needed to find him.

I asked Arthur where Pendragon would be, so I would know where to look if something happened to Arthur or himself before the all-feared event. It was such an easy question and of course Abraham suspected me, but what could he do? What if he was wrong about me and I really did consider his safety as something to prioritize?

With a steady voice, Abraham said that there was a hotel where the man would be staying until it was time for him to see to other dark plots. He even gave me the address, but then sternly cautioned me (which was just as good as an order) from going to visit him alone. He looked frightened, but that disappeared once Arthur arrived and came within the estate's well-fortefied walls.

I was standing next to Van Hellsing, in the waning light, with the notorious fog of England closing in around the gardens of the front yard. The trees swayed in the breeze and on the fair gentle breeze I heard the clear, wailing cries of my beautiful wolves. They still lived, though the pack's overall tone had changed. I heard them crying for me, wanting me among them. Their big brother Dracula could be no more. I was just like that poor wolf bastard from the zoo so long ago, that wolf I had charmed into terrifying poor Lucy's mother literally to death.

The rattle of traces caught my attention. The horses rounded a bend and came into view. Their hides were slick with moisture from the air and their exertion; the carriage rumbled up to the front steps. It was grey and trimmed with yellow and red. It was fairly impressive. The driver was an unsmiling man donned in black clothes, and a news boy cap over his eyes.

When the carriage stopped, he jumped down and retrieved luggage, handing them off to the house servants (excluding me, fools), and then opened the door for the passenger to emerge.

Arthur Hellsing did not look like a poet. He was a young strapping man of 20 or so. He was tall, strong-boned, and moved like a leopard with rippling black all over his person. His hair was combed and he was elegant and proper, and spoke perfect English as he greeted me.

"Alucard. We meet at last. Father's secret! How are you, sir? Father!" He shook his father's hand rather than embrace him. Arthur seemed to me at once not a very emotional man; he had been away from his father for so long that he seemed not to know where to begin showering him with affection. They smiled at one another and it was good. I felt ignored until Arthur turned to me. Most appallingly, he reached out, took my face in his hands and seemed to appraise me like an object, and I felt my teeth prick my lower lip in silent fury.

So I was just an object, expected to change hands like the sceptre of some crowned ruler. I felt the heat of my anger rising until Arthur finally let me go.

"So you really are a..." He didn't say it. But the word was on his mind, which - I was relieved - I could read like a book. _ Nosferatu. A real one. Oh dear God, I am looking at a real vampire. My father is not mad - how could I ever think that about my own kin, be it adopted or not!_

"I can prove it to you," I offered with a full-blown smile. He shied away at the sight of my teeth, like one would back off from a growling dog.

"That will be all, Alucard," Abraham warned, glaring from underneath his eyebrows. "If you're prepared to act like a gentleman--"

"As long as I am treated like one," I interrupted, staring at Arthur with undisguised menace. "I am perfectly capable of defending what remains of my _honor_. Tell your prodigal son to keep his hands off me if he would like to keep them for use. I'm much more than a dog or a piece of goddamned furniture you can... turn over and look at and grope to ascertain its value." I said this more toward Abraham, whose face flushed with his own passionate response to that.

We adjourned inside, where it was warmer for my mortal masters. Being in the same room with my future master filled me with dread; he looked most severe. I had to look hard to see kindness in his eyes. The ritual by which I was to become Arthur's was described calmly and rationally by the older gentleman. His voice was steady and he seemed perfectly at ease, as if he were describing how to remove an absessed wisdom tooth. Arthur sat and took it all with a face like granite, his youthful features made all the warmer only by the lamplight.

I acted as if I wasn't paying attention.

Finally, Arthur asked, "Is the... ritual... this alchemy... does it not hurt greatly?"

"No, not particularly. I anesthetize my wounding areas before I administer--" Abraham began, but Arthur firmly interrupted again.

"If you don't mind, gentle father, the question was directed to Alucard." He peered at me over the top of his nose, though I felt the impression he was not looking down upon me.

"Immensely."

"This is a beastly act you have described, Father," he told Abraham as if scolding him. "Surely this refined creature is not deserving of such treatment."

"He is a monster, no matter what form he taketh!" Abraham warned. "Don't let his charm and his wit win you over. That is what make the vampire so terrible a predator. Why did you not heed the advice in my letters?"

When the young man began to jump, ignorantly, to my defense again, I gently corrected him, "My boy... listen to your father." I smiled again. Arthur was looking at me, and he trembled ever so slightly in his chair. I had power over him, because he was not yet my master made. Thirst for blood was creeping over me, a chilling red glaze over my vision. Arthur Hellsing: very attractive, supple limbs, generous eyes and mouth. He came of respectable lineage though his parents both were dead. His eyes captivated me suddenly.

I was out of my chair and leaning over him before he could speak. I stroked his throat with furtive intent, feeling the pulse in his jugular leap at my touch. His pupils dialated and I wanted to kiss him, and hard, and make Abraham furious with jealousy. Such is the selfish heart I claim is my own!

"I could kill you ere you draw breath to scream," I whispered. "I could make every inch of you crawl with wanton lust, though your mind may beat against the unwanted desires."

Abraham was frozen, staring, his hands wringing the edge of his chair. "Alucard."

"Do you still think me a gentle creature, tamed? No... your father - this _man_ - beat me. He chained me in the dark, cut me open, and out poured blood and screams like that you only dream of - from Hell. This is what your father made me. I'm damned. I suffer at the hands of you mortals, as it should be." My sigils pulsed and burned. My power lifted the shadows out of the room and made them tangible. What sort of monstrous power was this that he had given me?

Any sensible man would have long since looked away, but no. Arthur did not shy back. He stared at me, his lips firmly pressed together, his eyes locked to mine.

"Alucard!" Abraham cried.

I pulled away and collected myself. The room reacquired its usual state of lighting and the two Hellsings in the room drilled me with eyes filled with hatred. I was not cowed, but I did feel obliged to leave the room at my master's bidding. The night was still long, and humidity seeped into my basement room. I contemplated my fate. Pendragon would come in a few days.

I sat poised on the arm of my chair, in the black basement, next to my Last Domain. I wasn't sleepy, naturally, and nursed a cold glass of blood. It was so quiet, and the night was boring. I closed my eyes and crossed my legs to reach into the infinite and let myself be vortexed into my master's body. It is good to note that I had not done this since the first few times, so many years ago. What I found was a little heartening.

His body was already accelerating towards its unglorious end.

"Alucard?" I heard him say aloud to himself. No, to me. I started out of my rest, and looked to the entry way where the doors were opening. I had not realized he was walking down to visit me.

I let the glass remain poised in my fingers, licking the lip of the glass.

"Hello."

"Alucard."

"Master."

The way the words seemed to fall from our collective mouths tasted bitter, like harsh medicine. He frowned at my soft laughter. Then I commented dryly:

"My new master is charming... but he is a fool. Best live long enough so the boy has time to grow a brain."

"You've terrified him enough," Abraham snarled, trembling hand clenched. "You are a disgrace! I should never have introduced you to him!"

"Too bad for you. He's mine now. Didn't you say I was to protect him from the big, bad boogey man? Or have you already forgotten?"

"No, I didn't forget," Abraham whispered, dredging up reserves of strength to walk towards me in a highly threatening manner. "But you will not harm that man, do you understand?! If something were to happen to him, everything... _everything_ will be for naught!"

"Your war against my kind," I replied, feeling him inch nearer. That clenched hand suddenly rose and struck me across the face.

"I hate you," he hissed, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes as he nursed his hand. "Why are you so miserable toward me? Why?"

"Don't forget what I am as well!" I warned, slowly turning the other side of my face toward him. "Strike me. As many times as it pleases you. Punish me."

The old man gave me a long look, but the fight that had once livened his supple limbs had long begun its slow spiral into nonexistence. He turned away and headed up the stairs, giving me no more backward glance. I lifted a glass of blood to my lips and thought about my victory - whether by my hand, or that of Fate.

-----

Later that night, Abraham spoke to me again. "Plans have changed," he said. "I'm terrified of Pendragon's intentions. Arthur will be the one to give you the blood, and it is to him you must be bonded. I can't afford to let you loose upon the world."

And that was all. He left before he could witness the ensuing confageration I summoned, heedless of all but my own frustration.

------

Down into Hell.

Sir 'Pendragon' walked beside me. I could smell his excitement as it rose from the surface of his face, his breathing excelerated, his heart racing. What had got him so aroused, I wondered? I looked for a way into his mind, but it was securely blocked and any further attempt would alert him to my desire to intrude.

I was willingly led along behind my master. Behind me Arthur Hellsing moved at a sedate walk, fine leather shoes clicking on the stones of the walk. I had donned something simple... something easy to remove once we were in the chamber of crippling terror and nerve-strangling agony.

Once again, I attempted to breach Sir Pendragon's mind. He was a highly evolved form of mortal, with a knack for telepathy - I could hear his thoughts echo back at me with a dreary dullness.

_I know you wish to speak to me, Eternal One, but I assure you I know all that you desire. Wait awhile and be patient._

I retreated swiftly, forcing my face to stay unchanged. I distrusted his words, but they were all I had to cling to in this life of servitude; I nodded at Abraham as he ushered me into the dark room - the familiar stone slab, the altar where the incense would burn. I determined not to show any apprehension. After all, I was a true-to-heart monster, and they could not be afraid of anything.

But afraid I was. My hands almost trembled as I unbuttoned my shirt, and my mouth went dry as well as cold. I slid onto the stone, and relaxed, raising my arms above my head so as to poise them for shackling. But this time there was no need for that. Arthur stood to my left, and Abraham just over my head. The Pendragon prepared the ritual... and I saw Arthur lift his sleeve above his elbow. He had strong limbs, fair skin and an attractive way of letting his fingers curl ever so slightly. All of these were things I noticed to keep my terror at bay. I did not want this idiotic boy to be my master.

Arthur came up beside me and lowered a blade to his arm. It was the same gorgeous silver blade from before, but it was made terrible as the blood pooled along the dips in the blade made to keep the blood on it, like inkwells. Abraham looked on, grief-filled eyes gazing at the sight as if he were witnessing the crucifixion. Perhaps it was regret that colored his face a hollow, empty grey. He was submitting Arthur to a great burden, in his mind, surely.

My head tipped away and the blade punctured my skin, following old scars that had been ingrained in me for so long. But my eyes were connected to a thread that directed my attention to his face, which was a mask of slightly sadistic pleasure as he cut deeply into me, repeatedly, unquestionably enjoying this more than Abraham.

When he spoke the words fluently from his tongue, my sense of doom crushed my hopes of ever becoming a free monster once again. I shut my eyes, trying to breath, but the burning incense was suffocating. I felt Abraham's hands on my shoulders holding me down, then holding onto my wrists. I was bucking, feeling every inch of my skin open portals through which only agony could enter; raw nerve-endings jumped back to life with every application of blood.

My eyes burned with the desire to weep; I would not cry before my 'inheritor'. I would not beg I would not cry I would not even let them see I was afraid. But the tighter I clenched my hands, the harder I felt Abraham hold me, and I wanted nothing more than for him to save me from this, to tell his son to stop and it was a mistake, that there would be no more servitude. Hadn't I done enough? Those years of slaughter, seeing my own kind fall before me; were they not enough to fill the cup of redemption to overflowing?

As minutes ticked by, I felt myself washed away in a flood of pure, unforgiving torture. This wasn't just a ritual. It was self-gratification on Arthur Hellsing's behalf, to see my writhe and struggle and swallow my agony, to strip me of my pride, with undisguised malice.

When the cruel knife-tip reached my navel, I screamed bloody murder, unable to stomach the deliriously extreme amount of pain wracking my body. My eyes streamed with blood, and the stink of my own blood mated with incense, creating an unpalatable odor that drove me insane. Abraham's face was cast in a veil of shadow, which soon quivered and blurred as my eyes failed to focus on anything.

And then a voice broke through my wordless howls, trickling through the noise I made. It was almost comforting, and I couldn't believe that it was someone for whom I nursed nothing but hate for.

_Good, beautiful, powerful Alucard... I'm here for you and this will all pass, it will, I can promise you. It will pass and you won't suffer any longer. Look at me, and it will calm you._

I spat a curse in fluent Romanian at the hidden face above me. Gentler hands than I would have given him credit for brushed over my hands. I crawled away into my mind, and ignored his words, firmly shutting my eyes and my mouth, though several grounding moans escaped.

Fairly deep into the recesses of ignorance, I was blissfully safe from the pain. But I was not going to meet with Pendragon, because I was gone from Abraham, from Arthur... and from the filthy room, the nightmare that lived in my skin. I took Arthur into my body unwillingly. It was a sordid rape, and I knew no matter what kind of monster I would become, I would never be free again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:** Yeaaaah it's another update. Another angst fest. It won't last. Promise. I'm glad I'm getting so many reviews for this. Feels good to know people are seeing the changes in my writing. Um...I really can't say much about this.

* * *

The psychotic blackness eddied like water to a blind man. The safe haven to which my tired mind had fled was unsteadily being picked apart by nothing more than bloodthirst. I ignored it; it gave me no comfort to feel it worming its way along withered blood pathways, feeding into reservoirs of immortal limbs and fingertips. I wanted nothing of the half-existence which awaited for me outside my little world. It was safer, calmer, empty of all that filled me with hate. Forsake the night, the blood, the body and the mind. It would all fade, for nothing is eternal; in time, I might be able to return to that inpenetrable haven of the earth to remain forever, find my place in the atoms of plants, trees, and of the animals that ate of those plants. It was all elementary and so very simple. Yes... my fate was simple. I would have it no other way. Not a monster chained to my mortal masters or my unsatisfied thirst...

Tingling warmth filled my mouth. I had abandoned my body to instinct and my mouth and throat took the warmth and drank it down. Possessed by outrage, I made an effort to reject it... but it was so _good_, so _sweet_, why shouldn't I take it with a smile? A gift so rare should hardly be turned down, my body argued, and before I could get my wits about me, my throat swallowed the first mouthful. And I was sold. My annoyed body took the substance gratefully and roused me to appreciate the new gift, a little mouthful every few seconds. What was nice was its freshness, the hot-blooded vibrance of the young, and if I concentrated I could almost imagine a struggling fellow in my arms, crying out as his breath poured hot from his lips. Such imaginings... how long since a meal like that? Was it not that long ago I visited my victims in the streets, not condemned murderers in jail cells?

I roused to the sound of my name: _Alucard. Alucard, waken. _It echoed in the tomb-like cavern of my mind. Not a thought nor desire stirred in my wicked little brain, but the voice seemed familiar. Wanton with curiousity, yet still I remained unresponsive. _This_ was to be my end, shameless in its utter defeat. How could I contend with the powers that men such as the Hellsings commanded? Better to just rot away than fight a losing battle. My ancestors, they weep!

A long, slender hand was stroking my face, but it was a big hand. A male touch, not used to touching in such a way. The pads of the fingertips were soft though. Like a woman's. They traveled with trepidation along unfamiliar terrain, over my smooth brow, closed eyelids and strong cheekbones; they paused at my lips, and then my eyes opened. I hardly knew whether to be angry or--

Young Arthur Hellsing stood near me, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. And Devil damn me, his beautiful vein still throbbing as he pressed a kerchief to it.

"Go away." I rolled to my side, and curled my arm over my head to keep him from touching me anymore or tempting me with blood. "Leave me, I said. I want no more!"

"No, listen." The figure that had haunted me with such gentle touches grew animated with urgency. I could feel the cold of his shadow move over me. "It is Arthur, Professor Abraham's son. Are you hurt? Is that why you will not abide me?" What a way he had, to seem as if he cared, but I knew he didn't. All the same, his words were touching.

But was I hurt? I admitted silently that my body ached in a manner that harkened to my early servant days, confined in that room, aching with unfamiliar, constant pain. I felt the hurts on my skin pulsing as Arthur drew nearer. My skin prickled as he slowly lowered his lips to my shoulder and whispered lowly, "It's that Pendragon. The one father has doubtless warned you about. He attempted some magic not part of the ritual. Father stopped him; a great explosion like thunder resounded and deafened me. The man Pendragon donned a terrificly cruel smile as he looked at father when he held him fast. The poor old fool! He used all the strength in his weary limbs to keep him from doing some sort of witchcraft on you. Then he struck out with unbelievable strength-" He stopped and muttered, "You're probably not listening, or have the heart to care. Father's ill. He has been bed ridden for a day and a half while you languished, and Pendragon escaped loose into the world with power - stolen from you."

His proximity made me tremor from the very depths of my heart. The beautiful odor of him filled me with want; his story terrified me. "That's all very fascinating, but why bother? I care not if the old bastard dies. I care not what happens to the lot of you wretched, _unbelievable_ idiots. Least of all, I don't... I don't care what happens to me."

Arthur did not become angry, as I expected. Indeed, he must have taken after his real birth father, who had the gift of infinite patience. It very nearly impressed me that one so young could not be moved by harsh words. He looked down at me and then smiled, "So. At the heart of the beast is really a child, hiding away. I do pity you, creature. Maybe Father was right about some of you. But you may lie here and scream and pout if you desire it, while the world moves on without you. I'm sorry that you must become a servant, but you would have done great harm to the world as a whole. I am not so foolish not to know that."

He retreated out of the room and shut the large door. I assessed my surroundings, stung by his words. _A child! Fah! _But at least I was in my own domain, in the dark sweet shadows of my little wooden cell.

Arthur's taste lingered. I closed my heart to emotion and slowly lifted myself out of the coffin and peered around. Perhaps curious, I just wanted to know where I was - and then I realized it was useless of me to hide, to sleep away. Whether I wanted to or not, I was still fascinated by the world and by my own powers, though lately stolen from me. It was not my deep-seated will to die, or, Heaven forbid, quit. To live and experience all, that is the horrible truth of it. Suddenly I felt a tangible confliction in my chest. As if something was gone, or going, from me. I shut my eyes and lay my head on the satiny cushion beneath me and looked through Abraham's eyes, through his mind.

My - his - body was hurting, though I examined the pain in a clinically distant way. I felt that Van Hellsing was doing just the same while he rested, eyes closed. So it was very dark as I sought to examine the state of him. His lungs were filled with fluid that had no place there, and his breathing labored with a horrible sound... He felt heavy, so very heavy, beyond his ability to raise himself. There was no strength in those limbs, no energy and desire in the fabrication of his tissues to do his bidding. They became so still, so despondent, those limbs; his lips moved and I think, though I don't dare hope, he said my name!

"Master," I breathed, hope and terror crashing against each other in embittered contest. He was dying. Really, he was nearing that portentous threshold and was going to cross. Soon. Perhaps within a matter of a day, or two. Or maybe more. His tenacious hold upon his life carried him through old age, a supernatural encounter with me...

This feeling. I sat up again too quickly, and brushed my fingers impatiently over my face. They came away with moisture. "Is this...? No... NO."

How could that horrible bastard, who had ruined me, broken me, chained me, beat me, and yes, assaulted my dignity and raped me, make me weep? Wasn't everything else ENOUGH? The anger, the... the aching need to decimate the emotion I couldn't name, couldn't dare acknowledge, was not easy to communicate or put into words. I imagined tearing my chest open and ripping out everything inside, and more, cracking ribs and shredding viscera until nothing remained... and then I would be free, maybe, maybe if my fingernails dug deep enough and it would be gone! And then that last little shred of me would be the freest, laying in a sick puddle on the floor, fragmented bits of me that were broken by the violence of purely existing.

Unable to accomodate the emotion, my heart felt as if it would burst. I crawled out of my wooden hideaway and made toward the door, hitched only by a stiff, unrelenting resolve not to go to him. I felt him calling to me, and I saw in my mind's eye through our connection his lips moving. I pulled on a jacket, clamping down as hard as I could on the emotion; no one could see me like this, no one but my master. Hurrying to the edge of the forbidden zone, I reached out and tested the boundary before moving forward, again my vision blurring. I tried to catch the cherry red evidence of the grief that made every action feel stupid and pointless.

I'd never really been in his room since that one night. It was there that I found him, and here my future masters would sleep. I slowly entered. There he lay. Thankless Death was hovering nearby, not even acknowledging me. But the evidence of his end was written plainly on his face. More lines... and a kind of peace. And those critical eyes were on me, the uncooperative lids of his eyes drooping every few seconds. A doctor, in the humble vestments of his craft, stood behind a priesting worrying rosary beads with tired fingers.

I drew back, and wiped at my eyes with my black sleeve.

"Go," Abraham wheezed to his attendents. "I've confessed all. Now I must relate something important to my man there."

_Liar_, I thought, and almost smiled. I was dizzy. The fresh sigils burned; this pain was as distant as mountains of my ancient stomping grounds. The priest passed me and smiled; the doctor avoided my gaze entirely. As soon as they were gone, Van Hellsing reached out to me. I moved toward him without thinking and met his hand with mine. He put something in my palm. I looked down to examine it. It was the stone wolf's head he used as a paper weight. It really was more than that. It was artwork, the bright intelligent eyes conveying a sense of endless hunger but boundless energy, perked ears, neck bent back slightly to puzzle out the secret of existence.

"Your wolves," he said, and breathed heavily for a moment. "Arthur will tell you."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop this, Van Hellsing." I straightened up, pulling my hand back. "Don't you dare die on me. I won't have it."

"But I must."

"You insult me."

Van Hellsing's lips curved into a small smile. "Don't pretend that... farce with me. Not now."

"Stop! Please-- Just tell me what you need to say, old man!"

Abraham Van Hellsing canted his head slightly; peace had wrought his smile into something saintly. I leaned closer, then outright rested myself on the edge of the bed. Anticipating a command or some meaningless remark, I listened to him. I dreaded every second that paved the path to his verdict. I suddenly very much wanted to return to my cell and not be here, watching him and listening and agonizing over his words.

Then suddenly it came.

"I love you, monster." He shuddered, as if a great weight was gone and he now free to test his strength. "_I love you. _There. It is said now." His words became ever more difficult, as he struggled past the veil falling over his eyes. "Don't fret. Please."

"Old fool. Arthur!" I called, desperately wanting someone else in the room, to spare me this... but there was no one else. Just as in the beginning, only me now. I leaned closer to him, breathlessly begging,

"Last command?"

"Not yet." Van Hellsing gripped my arm with sudden force, his rheumy eyes gleaming and wide. "_Not yet._ Kiss me."

Kiss him? I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was not a matter of disgust, or pride. I couldn't. It was too much like good-byes, and I rather loathed them. It was a sore indicator of attachment and I couldn't, couldn't, never, be attached to this man, this beast of a human being, the only worthy piece of entertainment in my miserable life...

Irregardless I pushed his hair from his eyes and passed my lips over his chapped ones. I called him my master, when all along perhaps he really wanted to be my friend; perhaps he was lost, confused, as to how to go about going beyond the role that he had taken. How could he know me, the monster, and make a friend out of me? I heard his heart beat once and his breath exhale gentle with satisfaction, as if all sin was absolved and the sky that had been dark and ominous for him was clear, brilliant blue. I pulled back, feeling his hand relax on my arm... and then realized that he was dead when our lips parted ways. I lurched backward, repelled by the unwanted revelation.

"No." Was that my voice?

His eyes were glassy, but slowly closed even as I watched him in livid emotion. His pallid skin, his wrinkled brilliantly genius forehead no longer full of ideas and science and magical creatures.

"No! You bastard!" I fell upon him a second time and shook him. "You were-- you were to be mine!!" Blindly, I struck the lamp and knocked it over and I shouted, "Wh-What about my last command? Where is it!? Don't die-- speak--"

Madness. That's all it was, really. I felt cheated of something that I felt was mine, in spite of my noble nature in allowing death to take its most natural course. I felt as if Abraham were to give me anything, anything at all, it would be the right to kill him for everything he had done to me. His humanitarian heart should have accorded me that honor. Dearest ones who read my words, I will tell you now that this is where my mind had reached a point where it became a vacuum, and this moment would swirl around in a vivid vortex of memory until it became mixed in with the other dirt of other memories. Of course anyone else would have known they were screaming at a dead person - a fleshy baggy shell of bones and viscera - with no soul. I didn't. I couldn't accept it. Where was the grand exit, the glorious victory? There was none.

"You can't die like THAT!" I screamed. "How dare you? HOW DARE YOU!?"

I rose up to strike at his inert form - perhaps to rouse the man to animation to defend himself - his lips still faintly curved into that saintly smile of boundless kindness. My motion was arrested by Arthur's voice. It was just a sharp wordless cry of alarm, but it was enough. I sank back and to the floor like a dog, resuming some mastery of my emotions. Arthur flew by with the doctor, their voices filling the air. Arthur ignored me once his father was the center of all attention. I didn't try to stop and tell them he was dead, fools, why bother? Indeed, I couldn't compete with Arthur's pain; that was his father, his true heart's father and I could not stand between that. I cowered away from it, then gained my feet and flew to my chambers. Enough of the death in the air, I thought. I want out! OUT! I veered from my course back to my rooms and fled out into the garden. Cool night air on my skin, and it was drizzling lightly. Rhodedendrons blossomed and the rose bushes intoxicated with their scent. Tall vines tangled up along the wall by the doors; tiger lilies shocked the night with brilliant orange, and night-blooming jasmine seduced me into slowing down.

I looked down at the stone wolf's head still clutched in my hand. My wolves, he had said. And something about telling Arthur.

I heard them serenading each other in the unassailable darkness; sheer exhaustion forced me to sit down on the wet grass. Pendragon _had _taken my power. I imagined the scarred, ugly man prancing about the country side with a nosferatu's strength, his abilities, reading others' minds. Good God. Did he have my thirst, or was that conveniently left out of his theft? Distracted, I listened more closely to the animals. The pain was gone and I glared at the backs of my hands.

I would get it back. I would talk to Arthur. Then I looked back at the estate, the house, my world when I was home. _Home. _It would never feel that way again for awhile. And then I noticed that I'd never called it my home before. Not until this moment, when everything that bore any reasonable value for me had been stolen.

It didn't sound right to call it thus yet. Abraham Van Hellsing was dead. I did not know Arthur Hellsing. It would be like living among strangers. I cried in the garden, once again unable to relate why, or how, this emotion came. I was not happy that Abraham was dead. Even though I remembered it should not matter to me that someone else killed him or not, I had wanted his death to really be my doing. Make the freedom almost sweeter. But now he was dead, and I _still_ wasn't free.

I stood up and gritted my teeth into a smile with blood streaks still striping my face. I let out such a sound all of a sudden, but it felt good, right then and there, to let it out of me. I swear I might have died if I didn't. Flew right up at the sun and burnt like a bit of meat on a fryer. I stopped roaring, and when it was suddenly quiet and still, I felt disgusting and silly.

"I hate you," I hissed, tearing up dirt. I shoved the wolf's head into the ground and pulled the dirt over it. He had struck me with it and I felt the memory of pain. He'd raped me, and rendered me so utterly helpless as to reawaken memories of my bitter childhood at the hands of a tyrant much bigger and stronger than I was. But no more. If I couldn't be greater than my masters, I must strive to be equal.

The following days, I refused to go to the funeral even though I was not sure I was even invited. Arthur avoided me. And that was easy, because I tucked myself away from sight, made myself as unavailable to speak to as possible. All of those arrangements were made without my even wanting to be a part. Abraham Van Hellsing had died; now the object of ownership was exchanged to the young man Arthur Hellsing.

I barely participated in anything Arthur tried to have me do. Of course I walked with him to the chamber of blood and suffering. Regardless of whether my power was stolen, the ritual could still be performed by Arthur, who was bizarrely familiar with it by now. Strong, beautiful Alucard. Was that what he really called me? Arthur's blood poured over my skin and readily bonded to the alchemic bonding. He added more each day; more complicated sigils, more power to help me become stronger. More ways to bring me farther and farther away from dying by the usual ways.

But, even if I was utterly despondent, I realized that his touch was gentler and had more finesse than Van Hellsing's. Though he could no more hope to speed up the process by practicing, he was good at making precise incision so that he was not buggering around with one part for any longer than necessary.

Arthur sometimes still treated me as an object. He was terrified of my silence and apathy. I thought about Van Hellsing, and the kiss he begged me for. His admittance of love. I shut my eyes and bit my cheek to keep from becoming angry. Arthur was right to be scared. Hell, I was scared. I was scared I was trapped to be angry like this and without an outlet; that it was going to eat me up inside until I was a shell that did nothing but the commands of my Masters, for all eternity. I was afraid that Dracula would wither away inside like the living core of a tree and let the crippled outside continue to stand, to weather out time forever.

Suddenly I cared very much about it. I woke up one very early morning, alone and trembling so hard my fangs chattered.

"Master," I called, though he was nowhere in the room. I remembered that two weeks had gone by with Pendragon still missing - and still walking around with a bit of my power.

Like a charm, he appeared at the top of the stairs when the door opened. He came down with a light and a bottle of whiskey and a glass all balanced in both hands. He wore a night shirt and pants, and dark slippers. He was hardly disheveled. He might not have even slept at all. He was very young and capable, and dealt with the ritual far better than my former, frailer lord.

"I heard you calling as I passed," he explained. "Why have you called me, Alucard?"

"I don't want to be like this anymore."

"Like what, you say?"

"I don't..." Digging for words, I finally unearthed something. "...find it very productive to spend every day, dying off inside somewhere I cannot reach."

"Alucard..." The man's scrutiny became more gentle, and he reached out. He touched my hand first. I almost recoiled, but it was so gentle and he seemed to take special care to avoid the new cuts. "You are grieving."

"I hated him!"

"I know. But if not for him, you are surely grieving for something else. If you would like to - if it helps - then you may hate me as well." Arthur looked me straight in the eyes when he said this, and - though I couldn't read his mind now - he really meant what he said.

"You, with all that compassion."

"Yes, me. Who else?"

"Myself."

"Hate yourself? Why?"

"You ask so many questions!!" I snarled, and jerked my head back down to hide somewhere in my coffin - though, jokingly, there wasn't very many places to go. "Because he was beautiful, and I'm ugly. Because he was old and dying, and I never will. I never will die. I will be alive long after you're dead and wrinkled and pathetic, and I'll still be here--" I struck the side of the coffin and shuddered. "--watching you all wither away and shit yourselves when you breathe your last."

Arthur seemed to take this in. Or maybe I had scared him into leaving me alone again. No, he was more courageous than that. He moved closer, laid down the light and whiskey, and reached right down into the coffin and stroked the back of my head. Same gentle touch. Same compassion. The question was: is any of that sincere? "Look. There is unrest in the world, Alucard, everywhere. Many people are dissatisfied with their lives. Existence isn't perfect. It is chaotic and ugly and no one really enjoys looking at it from the perspective of the things breaking down materials to reuse. Be patient. Perhaps you will find happiness in the new role that God has given you: to be His divine instrument... a real angel of death, you see? And you can give others the gift of death. Stop them from repeating the same mistake you did. For that is the only real truth, and you know that. Right?"

"Will I, too, recieve the 'gift of death'?" I rather liked the way he phrased that. The entire conversation felt dream-like. I thought that Arthur would rule over me cruelly and unmercifully after he realized the scope of my monstrosity. But here he was, conversing and comforting as if... I were just like him.

"Someday," Arthur promised. "But you have to work now. Your ill-gotten immortality is a curse, but you can use it now to redeem your soul. If you can't redeem yourself for God, then do it for yourself. Then you will find that maybe your life has more meaning than you think."

I didn't believe him. Part of me desperately wanted to. Part of me just wanted him to be there, just for his aura. "Master, you are an idiot, but... will you stay here?"

"Certainly." And without hesitation, he pulled a chair closer and lit a cigar. It was a different brand than Van Hellsing's; it was almost sweet. His hand disappeared into the coffin and stayed there, next to my hair. "Also, I think this might cheer you up: we've got Pendragon's location pinned down to one possible place. Then you can get that spring back into your step, old boy."

And that was the end of the moment. His fingers moved through my hair. The contact filled me with an achy longing. The effect was to lull me to sleep I suppose, but he successfully filled me with need. I ignored it and contented myself with the fact that Arthur had an enormous well of compassion; that was enough for now. It was true that he may not ever abuse me like Abraham, but he would never love me. I hoped he was too smart for that, at least.


	9. Chapter 9

(A/N: A chapter? Awesome. Very sexual? Yes. Don't like it? Too bad. Enjoy.)

**Chapter 9**

**When the Wolf Sings**

I breathed in the chillest of night air. Arthur's voice twisted into my brain with a command that was at once unfamiliar and comforting at the same time. Find Pendragon. Eliminate the threat. Disarm the monster walking the country side and mass-murdering families.

Two families already had fallen prey. I personally had taken stock of each crime scene to make an account of what kind of fool, assessing the carnage, gauging his limits. Strange how much more I can learn about a man by his handiwork. I believed at that time that he was possibly even madder than I was.

It was before the mission; Pendragon had taken my power and brought me even deeper into despair. Abraham had carved out a nice bleeding hole in my soul, and Arthur was struggling to dam up the aftermath without much success. I ignored him and hated him, but it all felt like a hollow representation of life before Abraham had gone. He was my master. He probably would have been my lover, but when I thought of it, it made my hatred for Arthur grow even more. I tried to strive to get away from his thoughts. But it was hard. He was new at keeping his ideas to himself, and the skill was difficult to master.

His subconscious was a terribly creative place. It was just another torment to add on to my own growing pile of bones.

The wolves in the forest near the Hellsing property cried in the darkness as I waited. Pendragon was terrorizing innocent lives with my strength, and here I was, moping in the shadows like a cretin. I bared my fangs and jumped down and wandered through the garden until I reached the edge of the gate. I could still scale it with relative ease. When I did so, however, I felt a mental leash tugging on me.

Just going for a stroll, I thought to my master. Then I descended through a weedy path through the stygian-like forest, where the trees choked out the moonlight.

The wolves cries drew nearer. A scrawny deer wobbled through the trees close enough to touch; a moment later, a trio of wolves darted past after the harried animal. My heart pounded as I watched them circle around and nip and harass, an addictive wildness pulsing in their eyes. Such raw power ran through their scrawny little bodies... such untapped potential. A signal from the leader rippled through the small pack, and a moment later they dove for the throat. The wet coppery heat of blood hit the air like an atom bomb. My blood thirst stirred, though I preferred the complex flavor of human blood, until I crept on all fours toward the pack on their kill. They snarled and snapped and their backs ruffled, but there was harmony amidst all that rippling chaos.

I was close enough to reach out and comb my fingers through their fur, which seemed a motley of grays, browns, reds... Beautiful animals. The alpha turned his craven eyes on me, as if realizing that the unnatural aura was none other than myself. He bared his teeth with a roar that blew saliva, blood, flesh on me. I snarled back and jerked the kill toward me, burying my nose in the open bleeding wounds and drinking. It tasted smoky and dry, like some wild wine brewed in a witch's home. The wolves snapped and snarled; without thinking I lashed out, grabbing the littlest wolf and threw her against a tree with a declarative snap. She fell to the ground without a remark, and the other wolves cried out in mixed fear and territorial displays. I dove for the alpha next while the second wolf ran.

"Your power will be mine," I whispered, holding the jaws of the great wolf shut while I buried my fangs in its furry throat.

Pendragon was easily found. The power of a wild beast pounded in my veins; I wanted to taste more of it, but it was not possible just yet. Pendragon was about town, and I sniffed out his unbearable stench an hour before I actually saw him.

The night was only just begun for he and I. Arthur's voice thudded through me. Destroy Pendragon and reclaim my birthright. As I walked the street in a thick overcoat, the collars turned up against the chill, I remembered the feel of Arthur's hand against the back of my head. The warm touch of his fingertips against my scalp as he slowly neatened the sheafs of thick black messily arranged in the coffin. I wanted to please him, suddenly. But more than that, I wanted my power returned to me.

I felt hollow. It had more to do with Abraham's death... and I wanted to feel myself again. Coiled inside me, all the voices of all the people I've ever devoured began to find their own voice - and the screaming began, a horrible noise that filled my head. I barely heard what anyone told me. It began with the wolves in the forest, their howls eerily distorted, their power driving into my brain with the force of a detonation. The only thing that penetrated the din was a man whose name was only Master to me now.

With a purposeful gait, I strode into the quiet alleyways of London and brought my hands to my face to breathe warmth into them, like any mortal. The ruse was magically perfect.

The animal in me was stirring, spoiling for a hunt. It was hard to master the creature in my breast, aching to break free. Hard to think much of anything outside of the command burning in my skin, my ears, my veins. My hands burned, and the markings on my body all felt like they were on fire. It was a challenge to keep me from crying out.

_Arthur_, I thought. _What is this power you've given to me?_

_Alucard_, Arthur Van Hellsing whispered, his thought a caress, goading me into resuming my task. The din hushed as I bathed in his word. If not for his voice, I would have already forgotten who I was. It was so hard to control this.

Pendragon was at his next killing. This time, no innocent family ripped apart, their entrails decorating a parlor. It was a young woman, a pretty virgin girl-child with fair hair and fairer skin. Her frail legs were all akimbo as Pendragon bent over her, his lips at her throat, blood pooling beneath her petticoat and her doe eyes rolled back into her head while she blindly clung to his shoulders. I acted alarmed at first.

Pendragon heard my footstep. He turned slowly, his eyes aglow with crimson. His boot heel smeared blood into the cobblestone and each heartbeat the woman made was weaker than the last.

"I thought you had given up the chase," Pendragon whispered, wiping blood from his lips, drunk on the virgin life flowing through him. He was a glutton, a sick and disgusting insect growing fat on the lifeblood of man. He was perhaps clever when he had started. But the lust for blood is a fickle bitch, and it can turn a smart, tactful man into a ravening bastard.

I struck first, ignoring playful banter in favor of action. As I buried my fist into his throat, I intoned, "You are a monster deemed unsafe by the Hellsing Organisation." Unfamiliar phrases dripped from my tongue. "Releasing Art Restriction to Level 1..." Pendragon's eyes widened, and the Hellsing's blood tattoos erupted into vivid color. I crushed his larynx, and Pendragon couldn't speak. I threw him into the wall, cracking the stone, and flecks of it fell all around. The woman gasped weakly on the ground.

The thief straightened, his tie ruffled, and blood soaking into his lapel. His lips curved into a smile like the scythe moon above; his fangs dripped venomous hatred. "So you think your precious master's arts will save you? I know the true limits of your power! You can't defeat me. I've taken yours; what do you hope to accomplish?" He rushed headlong, took me by the chest, and buried my into the ground, his nails becoming talons as they ripped me open. My wounds healed as quickly, but it was agony.

If anything, the torture Arthur placed on me made me almost laugh at the superficial injuries of battle. I shrugged off the pain and arched my neck, fangs bared, and sank them into Pendragon's shoulder. His eyes widened with shock and pain. I bit down hard, and twisted my head away to pull his flesh wide open. Blood gouted like a fountain, and his howl of pain was like music to my ears.

Suddenly I felt a powerful ripping in my skin. The agony was not unlike the pain of the marks as they were burned into me. I gasped, and the wolf's blood, boiling under my skin, suddenly coagulated. The agony coalesced into a clear purpose: it was going to burst out of my flesh and form an enormous dog's face where my arm should have been. The slavening monster barked once, its eyes, three on each side, rolling back and then focusing on Pendragon.

"Filth," I hissed, and then Pendragon was swallowed by the dog's head. Teeth gnashed; blood dripped and gushed from its maw to pool at my feet. Power surged under me; the blood collected through my feet and rippled into my skin, and I swayed a bit, unexpectedly dizzy. Rejoined with my blood, I was overwhelmed with the sensation of being overwrought. Bloodlust churned in my breast, and the woman's scream was shrill and unpleasant. I collapsed on the ground, laughing hysterically, understanding blooming within me.

Of course. Of course. All the agony, all the suffering... none of it mattered. I was strong enough. I would serve, oh yes. It didn't matter any more. It was all that mattered to anyone, to anything, on the this spinning marble in space. Pure power roared in my veins. The wolf's energy, my own demons, howled in my ears. I laughed at the pure simplicity of it.

"Master," I said as my mind broke apart. Little pieces of me flickered and died. I scrabbled at the pieces, confusion and mindless starving glee assaulting me in waves.

* * *

"What's wrong?" a worried voice asked. I rolled over in my coffin, pressed my hands to my face, not sure whether it was my own anymore. Or someone else. Or Arthur's. He sat in his study - Abraham's - drinking his tea. He was an unlovely silhouette, his own hands so unlike my Abraham's. I saw him raise his drink to his lips, felt the hot flavorless tea slide down his throat.

_(His breath tossed my hair, whispering as he caressed my bared skin, covered with his blood, smeared into obscurity. "You can hate me if you want to."_

_I tossed my head a bit, not even a pained breath. His touch riddled me with pleasure, and I was mindless with it. "What are you d-doing?"_

_"Do you want it to hurt?" Arthur stroked down my stomach. Pain twitched at my nerve-endings. "My father was not able to, but I can make it feel good for you." His lips came toward my ear, mint and tobacco, his tongue curving under my earlobe.)_

"Beware where you tread," Arthur said politely, pulling the dream away. I panted against the coffin pillow. Desire for him burned, and it was not entirely against my will.

He drank his tea again without another word, leaving me to writhe unsatisfied in my own perpetual darkness.

* * *

In the end, I did as Arthur instructed flawlessly. I was his weapon and whether he pointed, that's where I directed my power. He left me little time to think by myself, which was a blessing. He didn't speak to me alone for a long time, and diving into his consciousness was dangerous ground to tread. Clearly, as he had come from another country in the middle east, he had learned techniques to guard himself against me. And the torment of his imagination was harsh and left me raw and spiteful, but having him shut me out was even more horrible.

I was alone.

Maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

Maybe he was scared of me.

Above all, I became annoyed. In my current state, it was a dangerous emotion to be.

I stormed above in the hallways, seeking him out. He was not very far. He was playing the violin in the parlor, his favorite room, filled with music and light. My presence darkened it at once.

"Master," I seethed.

"Arthur," he corrected, laying the bow and violin aside. "What's wrong?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I hissed, circling around the room slowly. I looked wild, a long red coat hanging down to the floor.

Arthur tensed as I drew near, but he looked at me calmly, speaking rationally, "I don't know what's going on in your mind right now, Alucard, but I assure you I have done nothing to you intentionally." He frowned. "What's wrong?"

I stood there shivering, undecided as to why I really had pursued him. All I could understand was that I was tired of staying in my basement. I moved closer, watching his dark eyes watch me. I couldn't resolve why I needed to feel him touch me, to know he was real and not a phantom fo a man who had deigned to actually love me. (Can't you know my desire? Can't you understand my pain?)

Arthur's frown deepened. Then he seemed to relax, lifting only the bow of the violin. I watched him raptly, awaiting an answer, but when he didn't answer and only lifted the sharp bow to his wrist, I nearly broke a table to get nearer to him.

"Don't!" I grabbed him by the wrist, holding the violin bow away from his skin. His supple limbs felt sturdy, not frail, under my grip. I could break him, I realized. But he would not die. He relaxed, and I let him put it down again. Then his hands moved toward my face, warm touch, softest of fingertips. The beast, momentarily soothed, swooned against his touch. Was that how I looked to him?

He was standing, and even then I was much taller, he did not appear afraid. I stooped closer to him. He pulled my face close to his, a soft amiable smile on his lips. This youthful genius, a master of alchemy in his own right, ran his fingers through my hair once again. "Oh Alucard." His lips moved against my cheek, planting a soft kiss there. "I didn't mean to harm you. You're strong yet, and I..." He shuddered, feeling my breath quicken against his hair. I moved my hands hesitantly to his sides. "When Father gave you to me," he began again. "He gave me this responsibility for which I always felt I was ill-equipped. I've only recently kept you at a distance because... he told me your powers would mature in unexpected ways."

"Do I then frighten you in truth?"

His arms tightened. "Well, yes, but I..."

"Do you love me?" The challenge was issued in a bullying tone, dragging his uncomfortable thoughts into the light of day, pardon the phrase. He didn't answer, merely buried himself in my chest, his whole body warm and inviting. "Or am I your tool? Your sword, your weapon..." I stroked the back of his head. "Your plaything."

"I have the power to do anything I please with you, and yet I am human enough to avoid such temptation." Arthur grimaced, clenching his fists in my coat.

"And what exactly is 'human enough' to still justify torturing me? By default, you are stripped of your humanity as well." I pinned him with a look, and his face burned with shame. He backed up against the bookshelf. "For all your gifts learned in the Orient, you can't keep that from me."

Athur shivered and glared at me through his dark hair, youthful emotions dancing behind his eyes. Then he lifted his arm slowly and bared his arm to me. "Take it. I know it's what you want." He raised a letter opener to his wrist, pierced his skin just below the cuff of his sleeve. The scent assaulted me and the room shrank and his voice rose in a startled cry I leapt on him. But I did not attack the wound like an animal. There was nothing of Abraham's sweet musk in his veins. It was new and magnificent, adventurous blood, of the spice of the Middle East and the perfume of all his adventures poured over my tongue and the sides of it. I fell to my knees and drank, licking and licking until he combed his other hand through my hair, a faint taint of crimson on his face, pleading for me to stop. It was a deeper oath than I had ever made with anyone. I wanted him to myself and couldn't bring myself to hate him anymore, even though I knew I would never really love him.

Hours later, he sat beside me in my chamber, my head on his lap, my eyes gazing at oil lamp's flame as it burned away. His wrist was bandaged snugly. The servants had gone home and his fingers twined in my hair. He was fully dressed and I hadn't spoken a word. Finally I looked at him, taking advantage of the first quiet I had felt in years. "Command me, Master."

"There's a war," he whispered. "Whispers of dissent in Germany. Her Majesty calls for us to fight. Will you meet with her?"

I agreed without argument. His tongue directed my every movement. Weaponized madness. I couldn't resist.

With the Queen, I was polite. I stood in Her Court without a whit of disrespect. She was beautiful and strong, qualities I admired. When she advised us to war, I had no idea what to truly expect of her. She was grim with the knowledge of facing battle, but her resolve outmatched her desire to avoid conflict. My presence swelled in the Court, and my long shadow stretched all the way to the very edge of her throne.

"Will you serve?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I joined Arthur and the new boy he had taken on. My consort and the Angel of Death. Walter Dornez, a foul-mouthed child with a penchant for destruction.

* * *

Arthur brushed his lips over mine in the dark, bloodied kiss, a silent whisper left unspoken and communicated only in blood. Before shipping me out to the front, he took me aside and into his bedchambers. Rope lay twined on the bed.

"Take that form again," he whispered as he bound me. He was a secretive polite man, but in his bedchambers, he expressed a certain taste in women that was beneath society's standards of appropriate. He wouldn't touch me until I did. I selected a pleasing form for him, and his eyes wandered my body hungrily even as I could feel him burn with shame. He pushed me into the bedsheets and ravished the body I gave to him. Out of obligation? Out of servitude? Or because I desired it?

At his word, I served. He commanded and I obeyed. He bent me; I broke.

All for Master.


End file.
